The Ludovico Technique
by Ydnic Macnair
Summary: Ministry employee Hermione Granger has taken a position in the new Offender Rehabilitation Office and finds the programme to be somewhat different than what she expected. Meanwhile, Antonin Dolohov wants out of Azkaban by any means necessary. M rating for language, etc. EWE, Slyther-centric, eventual HG/AD pairing.
1. Chapter 1

**THE LUDOVICO TECHNIQUE**

Chapter 1 - Favours

Hermione Granger had been working for the Ministry ever since she finished her seventh (actually eighth, and possibly more if one counted the borrowed Time-Turner hours) year at Hogwarts—thus, it would be nine years this May-and she was incredibly bored. Not with the wizarding world, mind you—she still found herself randomly captivated and amazed by magic at random moments—but with her job at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because it was pointless. She'd accomplished nothing that she'd hoped to accomplish; rather, she'd become quite proficient at copying parchment and feigning interest in the myriad meetings which infected her regular work day. House-elves were still essentially enslaved (although they could, if they wished, work at temporary placements through the Agency in Carkitt Market). Werewolves were still discriminated against, although the Wolfsbane Potion had been repeatedly refined and was more effective than it ever had been. Centaurs were still centaurs, and she was vehemently opposed to them being dealt with as a part of her department (although she didn't work in that specific office). Finally, she had done her level best to avoid anything to do with goblins, as she was positive (based on the frosty reception she received whilst banking on Diagon Alley) that they were still holding a grudge against her.

And so it was that when the monthly Positions Open circular flew into her (tiny) office and landed on her (piled high, yet organized) desk, she actually looked at it for once, rather than binning it. And before she could really think much about it, she copied her CV and tapped it with her wand to fold it and send it winging toward the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

She received a memo within fifteen minutes that she was scheduled for an interview the next morning with Gawain Robards, the Department Head—because, despite the ennui and annoyances of the past ten years—she was still one-third of the Golden Trio, not that she found that fame to be more than a bother, most days. Thus, she decided to take the morning off from her current job and have a bit of a lie-in and take stock of things. She loved her Charing Cross flat—it was convenient to Diagon Alley and not that far from the Ministry (although she used the Floo to commute, unless it was a pleasant day). She loved her friends—she, Harry, Ginny, Neville, Hannah, Luna, George, Angelina and Lee spent most weekends together in varying combinations having drinks and dinner parties, playing games, and attending Quidditch matches. Her love life was currently nonexistent, but after she and Ron had an rather unpleasant break-up two years previous because he'd pushed her too hard toward an engagement, she was fine with casual dating—she'd even given Cormac another try, although he'd not improved much with age. Ron, she'd heard, had recently gone to work at WWW; if he'd still been an Auror, she would have avoided the DMLE.

All in all, she was optimistic about her chances of being hired—the job actually sounded intriguing—it was head of a new office called Offender Rehabilitation, and she (if she got the position) would be working alongside a Mind Healer from St Mungo's in an administrative capacity, and get to hire other office functionaries. The position description had been rather vague as to which offenders would be subject to rehabilitation, but there was a brief mention of Statute of Secrecy violations—for the last ten years, these had been the most egregious crimes publicized in the DMLE column in the _Prophet_ once a week.

An hour later, caffeinated, cleaned and clad in her regular work-day robes (which looked a lot like an elaborate business suit), she arrived on Level 2 and entered the reception area, which she'd never visited before. Harry (and Ron) usually met her in the café for lunch or came to her as the always-chaotic Auror Office wasn't conducive to private conversations. The witch at the reception desk had her sign in and informed her that she was rather early and that Mr Robards would be with her shortly. She was the only one waiting. There was a row of uncomfortable-looking chairs, a battered table with old copies of the _Prophet_, _Witch Weekly_, and _Transfiguration Today_, a large sign featuring the DMLE logo, and rows and rows of portraits, featuring DMLE Department Heads from 1707 to the present. As she was not interested in the stale reading material, she remained standing and examined the portraits, starting with Ulick Gamp (who was asleep), and continuing on through Torquil Travers (who sneered at her), Bartemius Crouch, Sr., (who squinted down at a stack of painted parchment and ignored her), Amelia Bones (who looked rather stern with her iron-grey hair and monocle, but smiled at Hermione), Pius Thicknesse (who looked rather sheepish and didn't meet her eyes), an empty frame with 1997-1998 on a placard under it, and finally a placard reading Current Department Head, 1998 – present, Gawain Robards, with a wizarding photograph of him above it.

Just then, the receptionist called her and she was escorted to Robards' office. It was, of course, larger and more elaborate than hers, and featured a bay window overlooking the Ministry Atrium. There was an Axminster rug, a row of packed bookshelves, and a sizable mahogany desk with a leather chair behind it and two leather side chairs in front of it. Mr. Robards was tall, with reddish-brown hair, a neatly-trimmed beard, and square-framed silver spectacles. He was wearing robes that looked a lot like a frock coat (which was the unofficial uniform of senior Ministry officials). There was a gold DMLE tie tack on his cravat. He smiled at her, shook her hand, sat at his desk, glanced at her CV, and after a short exchange of pleasantries, told her that the position was hers and he hoped that she could start within the month.

"Er, Mr Robards, don't you wish to ask me any questions about my current position or employment history?"

"No, I've already spoken to Diggory; he'll be sorry to lose you, but he gave his highest recommendation of your abilities."

"Well then," she said, "I accept." He stood up and shook her hand once again and began to escort her toward the door.

Just as she was about to bid him good morning and head down to her office to draft her resignation letter, she turned to him. "Mr Robards, why is the 1997-1998 portrait not on the wall out there?" Of course, she was fairly sure of the reason, but she wanted to hear the official position.

He paused, and frowned a bit. "We do not wish to acknowledge the participants in that regime, Miss Granger. I would have rather thought that you'd understand that, more than most."

"But if you're not _acknowledging_ them, then why not remove Pius Thicknesse as well, and Bartemius Crouch….he might, after all, have driven his son to participation—and while you're at it, take down Torquil Travers, Perseus Parkinson, Damocles Rowle and Radolphus Lestrange from the Ministers Portrait Gallery," she said.

"Thicknesse was Imperiused," Robards said. "Crouch was murdered; and the rest of them are from the distant past."

"I'm aware of that," she said. He turned back to his desk and reached for a thick folder. "And it's rather ironic you should bring that up, because the subject of that missing portrait, Yaxley, has volunteered to be one of the first participants in the rehabilitation programme, along with his close associate, Dolohov, and several other of their confederates."

"But—I thought this office was concerned with, er, re-educating witches and wizards who'd violated the Statute of Secrecy?"

"You surely don't think we're going to test an experimental programme on accidental trespassers, many of whom are first offenders, do you?"

"What exactly is involved in this experimental programme?"she asked, as she glanced at the folder in his hands. The picture on it was surely not one that the former DMLE Head would have wanted immortalized on the wall, as he had a black eye, his hair was jagged as if it had been shorn off, and he was wearing torn and bloody Death Eater robes.

"Do you wish to decline the job offer, Miss Granger?"

"I didn't say that."

"It's classified; you will receive the details when you take the post." Robards tossed the folder back on his desk and said, "And I didn't wish to have my picture next to him. Good day, Miss Granger—I look forward to seeing you in a few weeks."

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AUTHOR'S NOTES:

For those who read "Love For Tender," this fic is about the 'lengthy re-education programme,' of course. However, it's an AU of an AU—Hermione will not be paired with Yaxley in this one; she will (most likely if I can get him to co-operate) be paired with Dolohov. (Antonin fans rejoice.)

The Ludovico Technique is from "A Clockwork Orange."

Further chapters will receive their titles from the song "Favours" by the Delgados.

Fancasts: Hermione Granger and all her Gryffindor/Hufflepuff pals are as depicted in the films, as is Yaxley. Gawain Robards is being played by Sam Heughan. I'm debating about Dolohov currently.


	2. Chapter 2

THE LUDOVICO TECHNIQUE

Chapter 2 – Started to fight

Hermione walked out of the office feeling rather conflicted. She was excited to tackle a new challenge, of course, so in a way it felt like the beginning of a new school year used to feel, back before school had turned into a battleground, of course. On the other hand, she'd spent ten years trying to forget about those battles, mostly successfully. Now, a relatively benign five-minute conversation/interview had dislodged a battalion of unpleasant memories into her mind, memories of an ill-fated excursion to the Department of Mysteries, then a well-planned yet nearly disastrous break-in attempt to the Ministry, then months spent on the run in a tent with her two closest friends…then a battle…

She dragged herself over to one of the chairs in the waiting area. The receptionist had taken no notice of her—she appeared to be reading the latest _Witch Weekly_, which, when discarded, would probably join its companions on the battered table in front of her. She wasn't staring at the lurid magazine covers, though, she was seeing, in her mind, the interior of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, reliving the final battle over in her mind—the sights, the sounds, and the smells..._why had she thought that taking this job was a good idea_? Why, in fact, had she taken _any_ Ministry job at all?

She turned and once again her eyes were drawn to the empty frame on the wall. That horrible extended camping trip had been Yaxley's fault. For years, in her nightmares, she'd seen him appear behind them as they were trying to escape, had felt the rough way he'd grabbed onto her arm—she'd had horrible visions of what might have happened if she'd not done _Relashio_ on him—and now she was going to be in charge of his _rehabilitation_? And Dolohov's? And other Death Eaters, who hadn't been mentioned, but possibly they were even worse—such as the Carrows, who'd tortured most of her friends, maybe the Lestrange brothers, who'd tortured Neville's parents….or worst of all, the former Ministry executioner, Macnair, who was still mentioned in her current department, every so often. Could any of them actually be rehabilitated, and why was the Ministry trying to do so? It couldn't be related to overcrowding in Azkaban; from what Harry had told her, the place was practically deserted apart from Death Eater Row. Under Kingsley's administration, the prison had been improved to a certain extent, or so she'd heard: the dementors were long gone, meals were better, walls had been painted, uniforms were washed regularly, and there were scheduled Healer clinics and exercise facilities—it was no longer the medieval dungeon that she recalled from the descriptions of both Hagrid and Sirius.

When she heard the office door swing open and heels click past on the way to the reception desk, she immediately picked up her notebook and started glancing through the notes she'd made yesterday, which were a series of questions that she'd meant to ask Robards about the position. She made tick marks next to the ones likely to be answered when she started, and added a few more, because it never hurt to be over-prepared. She'd give two weeks' notice to Amos Diggory, her supervisor, and then take a week to read, hang round with her mates, and maybe have a spa day. She might have to train her replacement, but that wouldn't take long.

Out of the corner of her eye, she observed the person who'd come in sit heavily down, sigh, and then toss a clipboard with a form attached on the table. Hermione, in addition to having near-eidetic memory, was also a speed reader, and thus she was able to glimpse the legend at the top of the parchment, which read, _Conjugal Visit Request Form. _She hadn't even been aware that Azkaban inmates were permitted such, but clearly the improvement programme had been more extensive than the _Prophet_ had reported. As she mused over these matters, she noticed that the person was filling out the top of the form now, and she simply could not contain her curiosity. She held up her notebook and pretended to be studying the top line (which read "Interview Tomorrow") but glanced beyond it and saw the top line, "INMATE NAME: Corban…"

She looked up directly into the eyes of Madam Mafalda Hopkirk, the woman whom she'd impersonated via Polyjuice at the Ministry all those years ago, who was currently giving her serious stink-eye.

"Er—hello there—er, and pardon me,"Hermione said, standing up awkwardly. "I was just—er, just leaving—"

In a very non-Gryffindor fashion, she stood up, grabbed her notebook, headed toward the door and then bravely ran away to the lift. Of course, the witch in question was still annoyed at her after all these years—Hermione couldn't blame her, really. After all, she'd Stunned her, rifled through her purse, and impersonated her; all of which had come out in the trials and was well-publicised to boot. She'd sent an owl after the trials had ended but Hermione had been of the opinion, ever since her fourth year at Hogwarts, that immediately binning unsolicited mail was the best course of action. She'd managed successfully against the odds to avoid Madam Hopkirk during her years at the Ministry, primarily owing to the fact that they worked in different departments. There had been a few near-misses while waiting for the lifts, but once she'd figured out where the stairwells were, she usually took them if necessary, and she'd been lucky enough, so far, to avoid any confrontations in the Ministry canteen or witches' loos.

Once she got back to her desk and went through the stacks of pointless memos in her in-tray, she realized that Hopkirk might have not been annoyed about Hermione's impersonation of her—she may well have forgiven it, as it had occurred ten years ago in service to the extremely nebulous Greater Good—but rather because she'd been reading over her shoulder, which _was_ impolite no matter how one looked at it.

The minutiae of her job overwhelmed her and thus she forgot all about the awkward encounter until that Friday night, when she headed over to Grimmauld Place for the monthly Gryffindor alumni drinks party. As she'd decided that she didn't need to work late due to being a short-timer, she was the first arrival. Ginny answered the door and she waved hello to Mrs Weasley, who was passing through the hallway en route to the parlour, attempting to hold the hands of all her grandchildren at once (and somehow succeeding) before ushering them into the Floo for the Burrow. She followed the excited, chattering group and watched as they vanished into the green flames and then sat down on the settee.

Harry immediately sat next to her and said, "You know, this is supposed to be a drinks party—would you like one?" She smiled at him and walked over to the bar, where he mixed her a G&T, using his wand as a swizzle stick.

She accepted the drink from him and said, "Thanks! Oh…by the way—do you know, when did Azkaban start allowing…er, conjugal visits?" she asked, attempting to keep her tone casual.

Harry returned to the settee and picked up his lager, and she perched next to him. "A couple of years ago—the Wizengamot voted on it along with some other stuff—I was there during that session, couldn't think of any reason not to allow it—Kings' policy is, even though we're talking about criminals, denying them basic human rights is wrong—"

"And I most certainly agree with that!"Hermione said, raising her glass to the Minister _in absentia_.

Harry took a drink of his lager and then grabbed some pretzels from the dish on the coffee table. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I'm going to be working for the DMLE—did you hear?" She took a sip of her drink and reached for a pretzel.

"Yes, Gawain mentioned you'd been in for an interview—not that it was really necessary, he'd have hired you once you sent the memo, but he had to go through the formalities."

"I rather figured that out once I spoke with him," and she chuckled. "I feel like I've benefited from nepotism, but you can't imagine how bored I was in Magical Creatures."

"Worse than Binns' class?" "Quite similar, except I did get called by my proper name and I wasn't graded on my work…"

"Well, this new programme isn't going to be _boring_, that's for sure," Harry said, as he leaned back and crossed his legs. "I can't talk about it, of course, until you're briefed—"

"That's fine, I'm intrigued but I can wait—"She took another sip of her drink and then thought of something that had briefly crossed her mind. "Er…would you happen to know what Yaxley's first name is?"

"Oh—you _would_ have to ask me that—he's going to be on that programme, isn't he, Gawain mentioned that the other day. It's Calvin, or Charles…or something…no, it's more wizardy-sounding, let me think..."

"_Wizardy-sounding_?" Hermione giggled. "Oh, you know, he's one of those Sacred Twenty-Eight types.""Shouldn't your family and Ron's family be on that list, as well?"

"No, we're all horrible blood-traitors, our ancestors disqualified us a long time back…"

"For being decent, I should think—although it probably wasn't difficult to annoy someone who was already named Cantankerus—_that's_ not his name, is it?"

"No," Harry laughed. "Although it may as well be, the last time I went to Azkaban he was being brought out for some reason and when he caught a glimpse of me he looked like he did at the Ministry that time, like if he'd had a wand he might have just skipped the spellwork and shoved it straight up my arse-I'm not sure how he's actually going to get _rehabilitated_…"

"_Thanks_, Harry, way to make me feel excited about my new job before I've even started. Go, Go Gryffindor!" Hermione laughed and took another long sip of her G&T. "Could you grab me a refill?"

"Sure—"Harry stood up and Ginny jumped over and grabbed the seat next to Hermione. "So what's new, girlfriend?"

"Oh, I was just talking to Harry about my new job—""Yeah, he said something about that, some new programme?"

"Yes, anything's better than sitting down there filing parchment all day and occasionally getting glared at by Mr Diggory—although he did give me a good recommendation, which I appreciate—"

Harry came back with the fresh drink and handed it to Hermione. "Corban," he said.

"Er—is that a code word for something?" Ginny asked, and Hermione asked, at roughly the same time, "That's his name?"

"Yep, I guess it's not as weird as it could be—""You're _certain_ about that?" Hermione asked. "Pretty sure, I have some files upstairs in my office, I could go check—"

"No—that's all right—"Hermione said, and to her chagrin she began to blush. "What's going on?" Ginny asked. "Well…er….when I was going for my interview the other day, when I was getting ready to leave, er, I sort of accidentally spotted someone in there filling out the paperwork for a conjugal visit and, er, that was the name on, just the first name, though—I suppose there _could_ be another inmate by that name."

Harry shook his head "no."

"Oooooooh, who was filling it out? And who are they visiting?" Ginny said, her eyes sparkling. She adored gossip. "You're probably not supposed to say, though—"she laughed.

"Are you, Harry?" Hermione interjected.

"Not technically, no, but as it's Yaxley we're talking about, he nearly killed us..."

"Seriously?" Ginny asked. "That one who sort of looks like Mr Malfoy, if you squint a bit?"

"_I_ don't think he does," Hermione said. "But then again I had to sit next to him for thirty of the worst minutes of my life and pretend to be his secretary-"she paused.

"Come on, Hermione, what are you getting at?" Ginny said.

"Well, it was Madam Hopkirk from Improper Use of Magic filling out the form," Hermione said, and Harry said, "_No_! You're kidding!" and started to chuckle. "_We're_ not even supposed to know who gets those visits, just Gawain, and you know what a tight-arse he is—"Ginny laughed and nodded.

"Oh, great," Hermione said. "I actually didn't know that, and once again, Harry, you're making me wish I applied _anywhere_ else—well, except for Improper Use of Magic…"

"So, speaking of improper, did he _say_ anything to you back then?" Harry said, waggling his eyebrows a bit.

"No!" Hermione said. "I mean there wasn't really time..."

Harry laughed, "Did he grab your arse or something?"

"No!" and by this time, Ginny was spluttering and Hermione was having trouble keeping her composure.

"Did he whisper into your ear that he wanted to make, er, pure-blooded babies with you?"

"For _Merlin's_ sake, Harry! I definitely would have said something to you and Ron about _that_—"

"I guess you would have—"Harry said, as he finished his lager and stood up to get another one. "Anyone need a refill?"

"Me, please," Ginny said, still chuckling a bit, as the Floo chime rang. She waved her wand at it and George and Angelina appeared in the flames and stepped through. Everyone stood up and exchanged hugs, Harry got the newcomers some drinks, and after everyone sat back down, Harry said, "Well—thanks, Hermione, the next time I have to make an Azkaban visit it'll be a _lot_ more amusing—"

"I could help you there," George remarked. "Oh, you _should_ give Hermione some of your products, she's going to need a laugh once she starts working in that new department—"

Ginny, who was still chuckling, added,"Yeah, she's off to Azkaban to make half-blooded babies with that cut-rate Malfoy chap—"

"What?" George said; at the same time that Hermione said, "Ginny! I am _not_!"

"Who are you talking about?" Angelina asked.

"Oh, you know," Harry said. "Yaxley, that Death Eater who chased Hermione and Ron and me that time in the Ministry, when we went to get the locket Horcrux."

George started laughing. "Cut-rate Malfoy, little sis, really?"

"Well, he _is_, he's got that hair—"

"He had a bit less when _I_ was done with him, though," George said.

"What?" Harry said.

"Didn't you know? Lee and I dueled him at the Battle—he was a tough one, great duelist, I'll give him that, we nearly lost—it was touch and go for a while there—but we finally floored him with two simultaneous Stunners…" Everyone was listening to George with rapt attention; he did not often talk about the Final Battle. "Anyway, I, er, might have used my wand to give him a bit of a haircut."

"I didn't know about that," Harry said. "Well, you were a bit busy that day, mate, saving the wizarding world and all that—you know... no biggie?" Everyone laughed.

The conversation moved on from there to matters that, in Hermione's mind, thankfully did not involve the war or her new job, and so she was able to relax and enjoy the rest of the evening, and indeed, the rest of the last week in her former department. Her co-workers threw a small soiree for her, with butterbeer and goodies from the Leaky Cauldron, and Mr Diggory gave her a plaque commemorating her ten years of loyal service.

Her week off was incredibly relaxing, involving daily lie-ins, takeout food, and a spa day with Angelina, Ginny and Hannah. In the spirit of reconciliation, she even dropped by WWW to have a rather polite conversation with Ron (who'd sent her a note of congratulations on her new position), the first she'd had in six months. They walked down the street to get an ice cream, and they shared a couple of laughs and he even gave her a side-hug, so she felt things had definitely improved on that front. When she left, she told him that there was no reason he shouldn't come to the next Gryffindor drinks party, and he smiled and agreed.

* * *

On Monday morning, feeling rather reticent, she arrived at the DMLE reception area thirty minutes early. When Mr Robards arrived (also early), he gave her an approving nod and showed her to her suite of offices—hers was nominally a bit larger than her previous office, but it did have a window, albeit not one overlooking the Atrium. He brought in the receptionist so that Hermione could order supplies and get orientated to the department (which mostly involved being handed keys to her office and installing a name-plate), and thirty minutes later, he arrived with a stack of files floating in front of him with a parchment on top.

"These are the inmates who have volunteered for the experimental programme. In addition to hiring your assistants and meeting with the Mind Healer, I'd like you to spend the rest of this week familiarizing yourself with them. When you're done, I'll be asking you some questions to ascertain how much information you've gathered, and then you will receive the full briefing, after which we'll go to Azkaban so you can meet with them."

Hermione stared down in horror at the parchment. Although Mr Robards had clearly stated who the participants would be, she'd held out a vain hope that there might be a couple of Statute of Secrecy violators or Improper Users of Magic or even Misusers of Muggle Artifacts on the list. That was not the case. The names were, from what she could tell, a significant percentage of the offenders on Death Eater Row.

**DMLE Experimental Rehabilitation Programme Volunteer List**

**-For Department Eyes Only-**

_Avery, Herbert Devere_

_Dolohov, Antonin Aleksandr_

_Lestrange, Rabastan NMN_

_Lestrange, Rodolphus NMN_

_Rookwood, Augustus Hadrian_

_Rowle, Thorfinn Bjorn_

_Selwyn, Dexter Charles_

_Travers, Tobias Andrew_

_Yaxley, Corban Thomas__  
_

"Mr Robards?" she asked, after she glanced up. "How, exactly, did the inmates volunteer for this? Were they given some sort of choice?"

Once again, he gave her an approving look. "Yes. The choices were the programme, deportation, or remaining on their life sentences."

"And what do they get as a result of participation in the programme?"

"A chance at parole," Robards said. "But quite honestly I doubt any of them will qualify for that."

"Who chose deportation?" she asked. "Crabbe, Goyle, and Macnair," he answered, without missing a beat. "And if they wash out of the programme?" she asked. "Back to their original sentences," he said. "And I do apologise, but I have a meeting—please feel free to send a memo if you have further questions."

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AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Fancasts:

Antonin Dolohov-Michael Huisman (by popular demand)  
Gawain Robards – Sam Heughan  
Thorfinn Rowle – Chris Hemsworth (thanks to whoever originated this fancast)  
Dexter Selwyn – Martin Freeman  
Tobias Travers – Benedict Cumberbatch

Everyone else is as depicted in the films. Feel free to pick others if that's your bag—I'm not sure that there is an Avery in the films. I also gave Avery, Dolohov, Rookwood, Rowle, Selwyn, Travers and Yaxley first & middle names, where needed.

Even though this is technically a drama/hurt/comfort/emo, etc., fic, somehow humour creeps in to all my fics no matter how hard I try keeping it out. Also, this is going to be a slow burn, btw. And once again, Yax is _not_ the primary focus of this fic (he just happens to be a favorite of mine), although he and Hopkirk are the secondary pairing.

I'm pretty sure that a fanfic author or two came up with the term "Death Eater Row" and to whomever you might be, I thank you.

The discussion on Yaxley's first name is a reference to the fact that he didn't have one in canon until a couple of years ago when JKR put out supplemental material about him going to recruit Slughorn, so fic writers improvised, as we do. (I rather liked Calvin, can't recall what fic that's from right offhand; Charles is from the outstanding fic "The Dark Mage's Captive" by Canimal, which is recommended reading).

Cantankerus Nott is the canon author of the _Pure-Blood Directory._

The bit about George and the post-duel haircut is an invention of mine from "Love for Tender"

Chapter titles are from the song "Favours" by the Delgados


	3. Chapter 3

THE LUDOVICO TECHNIQUE

Chapter 3 – But I took off in fright

Hermione decided that the best course of action was to create a solid working routine for her Office. Instead of tackling the inmate files the first day, she headed down to the Ministry café to have coffee and a pastry, visited the Temp Office and hired an assistant/file clerk (Georgina Smith, a rather pleasant Hufflepuff, right out of Hogwarts), and most notably, met with Alexander Townsend, the Mind Healer.

Townsend was American, educated at Ilvermorny where he'd been (unsurprisingly) a Horned Serpent. He'd continued on to study psychology at Yale, which was surprising; he explained to Hermione that he'd done catch-up work over the summers and submitted his college application as a home-schooled student. After graduation, he moved to the UK and took an apprenticeship at St Mungo's, which had so far been relatively prosaic. He had short sandy blond hair and a rather boyish, yet intense face, was of medium height and build, and was wearing green Healer's robes over a sweater and trousers. He insisted, in what she thought was a typical American fashion, that she call him "Alex." Lastly, he was pleased with the office she'd picked for him and promptly barricaded himself inside it, after politely requesting that she provide him with the inmate files to read, and suggested they hold a daily meeting about each inmate until they were completed with the roster.

Hermione set Georgina with the immediate task of organizing and copying the files so that both she and Alex had their own copies and returning the originals to Mr Robards; after that, she was to keep a log of their daily meeting notes, intercept all memos heading to the Office, and just generally be a friendly face.

Meanwhile, Mr Robards seemed notably absent from day-to-day DMLE operations. She'd sent two memos requesting a time for her briefing meeting, neither of which were answered. Once, she saw him in passing, speaking with Harry outside the lifts, but by the time she reached them, he'd departed. Finally, late on Friday of her first week, he sent her a memo stating that she and Alex were to continue studying the files and then attend a brief orientation meeting with the inmates next Friday morning, chaperoned by Auror Proudfoot and prison guard personnel.

The Friday of the meeting, Hermione got in a bit late on account of having left her purse at her flat which was atypical—she realized, when she stepped through the Floo, that she was attempting to put off the inevitable. Just reading the files had been bad enough. She'd repeatedly made trips to the supply closet for items she didn't really need, as well as jaunts to the Ministry café and news stand to purchase mass quantities of chocolate, just to get away from the narrative and the photographs and the endless discussions of heinous acts. She'd taken to walking through the main DMLE lobby (rather than the more convenient side door leading to her office) to have discussions on the weather with Janet, the departmental receptionist, and she'd chatted about Hogwarts to Georgina on a near-daily basis. She'd had to take Dreamless Sleep Potion twice during the first week, especially after she read Avery's file.

When she finally made it to her office, she glanced at the clock and realized she had ten minutes until she and Alex needed to depart for Azkaban, so she went back out to Georgina's desk to wait for him. The cheery witch handed her an envelope, which turned out to be an invitation to an impromptu dinner with Harry, Ginny, George and Angelina that evening. She quickly scribbled "_YES PLEASE THANK YOU!—H_" on the letter and asked Georgina to post it, just before Alex emerged, clutching his clipboard and a cup of coffee.

The DMLE had its own in-house Apparition Centre, which Hermione had never seen. It was a tall, echoing chamber shaped a bit like a hollowed-out chess rook. The extremely bored room attendant explained there were multiple wards to prevent personnel landing on top of one another, before ushering them to a pie-wedge-shaped section of floor where Auror Proudfoot awaited them.

"Good, you've got your cloaks," he said. He was of medium height and muscular build, with salt-and-pepper hair and a rather no-nonsense attitude. "Just from experience—it's best to use a Ministry loo before we go, you don't want to see the visitors' toilets; I don't think they've ever renovated them." Both Hermione and Alex indicated that they didn't need to make a rest stop, so without further ado, Proudfoot Disapparated them to the portico outside the front entrance of Azkaban. The North Sea wind whipped over them and cut immediately through the layers of Hermione's suit jacket and cloak, and she was quite thankful that she'd remembered to pin her hair up that morning.

They were ushered inside by a bored-looking junior Auror. Although the walls had been painted (a rather dingy-looking institutional grey) and there was a reception area (featuring the same furnishings and DMLE logo as at the Ministry, but not the portraits) and there did seem to be some form of central heating, most likely through an Atmospheric Charm, the place was horrible. It smelled like sweat, despair, and off-brand Magical Mess Remover and she could feel the magic-dampening charms in the walls, almost as if they were reaching into her core to render her powerless. She spotted three rats running along the baseboards while they were en route to the group meeting room, and she heard a loud, anguished scream when they passed next to a battered ventilation screen.

"Here it is—"the Auror used his wand to unlock and open a large reinforced metal door with a slit window. The room was about half the size of a Hogwarts classroom and featured a table up front and two rows of solid wooden chairs with chains on both the arms and legs lined up opposite it. Proudfoot counted the chairs and ensured that there were nine of them in the front row, and then flicked his wand to send a mastiff Patronus through the door. He then ushered Hermione and Alex to chairs behind the front table, and layered several Shield Charms around them.

"No more Dementors," he said, after a long silence, "But you might want to put your Patronuses up just in case." Hermione immediately caused her otter to appear and gambol around the ceiling. Alex's Patronus was a medium-sized animal which Hermione did not recognize; when he saw the question start to appear on her face, he said, "Wolverine." She nodded.

There were two sharp raps on the door, and then it opened to reveal an Auror, who backed up into the room and used his wand to direct the line of prisoners into the chairs. They were not in alphabetical order. All of them wore the Azkaban uniform of black-and-grey striped baggy trousers and tunics; all had prison numbers tattooed on their necks. She immediately recognized Rowle, Dolohov and Yaxley; the latter sat almost directly opposite her, to her chagrin. She was positive that Rookwood was the second tallest (next to Rowle). The Lestrange brothers resembled each other nominally. Travers was tall, with curly hair and a long face; he was next to a shorter wizard with graying hair that was likely Selwyn. That left Avery, who had a long nose, straight hair, and an unpleasant look on his face, as if he smelled something bad.

Of course, there were a myriad of bad smells in the room, emanating directly from the wizards. Although their uniforms seemed nominally clean enough, most of them had greasy hair in various states of unkemptitude. Yaxley was the only one who had his hair tied back and face shaved; the rest had beards of varying lengths. Dolohov looked as if he hadn't combed his hair in years. Hermione discreetly flicked her wand under the table and performed an Air-Freshening Charm.

Nine Aurors filed into the room behind the inmates and pointed their wands at their backs; their hands and feet immediately adhered to the chair arms and legs, and the chains snapped into place with a loud clank. The Aurors then positioned themselves behind the wizards and unmovingly held their wands behind their heads. Proudfoot stationed himself on a chair directly in front of the door.

Alex cleared his throat, which echoed a bit in the room. "You are all here because you volunteered for the Ministry's Experimental Rehabilitation Programme. My name is Healer Alexander Townsend, and to my left is Administrator Hermione Granger of the Offender Rehabilitation Office." He paused, presumably for her to say something. Hermione decided to not bother with trying to correct the nomenclature, and politely said, "Good morning."

Most of the wizards had their eyes downcast and did not acknowledge them, but Avery sneered again and spat on the floor. The Auror behind him instantly hit him with a Stunner and then a Rennervate, so that he slumped over in his seat and then immediately sat back up. "Do that again, Avery, and you'll get worse," the Auror barked.

_I wonder if it's too late to resign this post_, Hermione thought.

* * *

"It's not fair, Harry," Hermione said, after a rather long silence during which she gratefully accepted a G&T from him and took a long drink. "Not even slightly fair!"

"What's not fair?" Harry said, plopping down next to her on the settee.

"That an Azkaban inmate is getting more dates than I am," she said, after another rather long silence.

"What?!" Harry said, as he sat down his lager. "_Who's_ getting more dates?"

"Yaxley; he's got witches lining up for him. They can only have those conjugal visits once a month, you know, and _three_ more witches have showed up to apply for next month's visit. Two of them were practically drawing straws, one of them said she'd just see Dexter, her husband, this month instead…+"

"That's Selwyn," Harry said.

"Yes, I've just about memorized those files. I feel dirty reading them, so I have to kind of space them out, you know, over the workday. And first thing this morning, Alex and I—Healer Townsend, that is—had the group interview in Azkaban and….ugh. I wish I'd taken off two weeks before starting this job, rather than just the one."

"I understand," Harry replied. "Believe me."

"Anyhow, so the second witch, who looked a bit familiar, said she was sure that she wouldn't get this month, that probably one of the others had come in to apply first—"

"How is it that you heard this conversation, Hermione? Isn't that programme supposed to be confidential?"

"Well, I'd come back from the cafe, I actually happened to be reading Selwyn's file—had it disguised as the _Prophet _because we're not supposed to take them out of the office. I went through the main reception area, and Janet was still at lunch, and they were waiting. When they saw me come in they assumed I was Janet's replacement—which was annoying—and asked me for the forms. They were sitting in plain sight on her desk in a folder, so I handed them out. And they kept talking; it's amazing what people will say in front of those who they perceive as inferior." She took another long drink of her G&T.

"You're certain they were applying for him? So who's the fourth one, then?" Harry Summoned another bottle of lager, and paused to take a drink.

"I'm getting to that. So I went to my office for a few minutes but came right back out because those self-inking quills the Ministry stocks are rubbish, as you well know, I'd broken yet another one, and I was going to ask Janet if she knew where we could get some better ones. But she still hadn't returned, so the two witches handed me the forms back, and they _both_ had Yaxley's name on."

Harry laughed, "Guess old Dexter lost out, eh? "

"I wasn't sure what to do, so I put the forms face down in Janet's chair, and when I looked up, Mrs Malfoy had come in—and _she_ asked me for one!"

"But, er, Lucius Malfoy is on house arrest…" Harry said, his voice trailing off. "No!" he said, and then started laughing, just as Ginny came in, floating a tray full of hors d'oeuvres shaped like Snitches in front of her.

"I can't decide whether I'm annoyed that she assumed I'm a Ministry receptionist, or amused—I _did_ consider telling her that she was rather far down the, er, rotation—"

"Should have asked her to slip you a couple of Galleons to move her further up," Harry said, laughing.

"All right, you two, what's going on?" Ginny said, after she sat the appetizers on the coffee table and Summoned a lager from the bar for herself.

"Hermione's annoyed because Azkaban inmates are getting more action than she is," Harry said, as Hermione interjected, "I am _not_!" "Well, you said it wasn't _fair_," Harry replied.

"This isn't about that Mr Malfoy lookalike again, is it?" Ginny said, after she took a drink and devoured a savoury Snitch. Harry laughed.

"He's got four witches lined up to see him for conjugal visits, including _Mrs_ Malfoy, thank you very much," Hermione said.

"Have you interviewed him yet?" Harry asked.

"Well, I saw him this morning as part of the group interview. Avery dropped out, which means he's got to wait a year now to make his second choice, but he told Alex—Healer Townsend, that is, that he was going to take deportation rather than work with someone like me…a…you know…" Hermione's voice trailed off, and she frowned. "I was pretty chuffed to Incendio the copy I made of his file after we got back to the Ministry."

"Let me guess," Harry said. "Did "you know" involve a word beginning with 'Mud'?" He picked up one of the miniature Snitches and took a bite. "Ginny, these are fantastic!"

"Funnily enough, it did," Hermione said, sighing. "Considering that he was leering at me all through the interview I'm fine with never seeing him again."

The Floo chime rung and Ginny waved her wand at it. George poked his head through and said, "Sorry, mates, Ange is a little under the weather—we're going to have to beg off tonight—"Everyone shouted their well-wishes for Angelina, and George smiled, waved, and disappeared back through the flames.

"Oh well, guess they'll have to miss out on all the good Ministry gossip—"Ginny said. "_And_ we'll have leftovers, so it's roast beef sandwiches for you all this week, Harry," she added.

"Nice!" Harry beamed. "So, Hermione, did anyone else drop out?" He reached for another edible Snitch.

"I think that Rabastan Lestrange will be disqualified. He sounded like he wasn't all there, and Alex was making lots of notes when he spoke with him."

"Yeah, I don't know too much about him," Harry said, once he was done eating his snack. "One less of them on the programme is fine with me," Hermione replied.

"Who cares about _him_, I want to hear more about, er, Mr _PlayWizard_," Ginny said. "Really?" Hermione said. "He didn't say much to me; he was polite—"

"Oooooh, _polite_, that's the first step! Did he try to kiss your hand like those old-school Purebloods do?" "They were chained to the chairs when we were brought in, Ginny, and the atmosphere there is hardly conducive to romance," she added. "Doesn't sound like it stops _him_, though," Ginny said.

"They don't get much unsupervised time on those visits," Harry said, "And they're held in a special room with magic-dampening charms, and nobody can take in wands—""Well, the _wooden_ ones, at least," Ginny said, laughing, and then Harry and Hermione joined in.

"We really shouldn't be joking around about this, I'm never going to be able to look him in the eye when we have our one-on-one interview—"Hermione said.

"_Ooh la la_! When's that?" Ginny said, waggling her eyebrows. "You should go shop for a nice robe, something low-cut, he'd probably like that—"

"You are _worse_ than your brothers, and that is saying something," Hermione said. "I'm not wearing something like that to the Ministry, much less Azkaban. And for Merlin's sake, we're talking about a Death Eater here—I'm definitely _not_ interested—"she paused. "Plus he seems rather booked up, and I'm not partial to blonds."

"Well, there's always haircolour potion," Ginny said.

"For the last time, my work is not some sort of _dating scheme_," Hermione said, but she smiled.

"Speaking of that, Gawain and his wife are on the outs again," Harry said. "Oh, _no_!" Ginny interjected. "Yeah, expect a lot of late nights for me until they reconcile…soon, I hope," Harry said. "Hermione, my advice is to stay out of his way as much as you can—"

"That explains why everything got so wonky right after I started; he's been out of the office a lot. I have a meeting with him Monday morning first thing," Hermione said, looking unhappy. "To schedule the one-on-one interviews, and hopefully get my briefing on the program."

"Oooooh, so you'll find out when Mr _PlayWizard's_ interview is, then?" Ginny said, as she stood up and began ushering her friends toward the dining room, levitating the plate of snacks beside her.

"Ginny! _Please_ stop calling him that, it'll get stuck in my head and I'll never be able to deal with him without thinking of it, and he'll be last on the list anyway, if we keep to alphabetical order. All I know right now is that the interviews are going to be over the next two weeks." Harry pulled out a chair for her and she sat down as Ginny Summoned food platters from the kitchen.

"We're being put on alert for them," Harry said. "Send me your Patronus straight away if you have any issues—" "I definitely will, but I don't expect any, there were more guards than inmates this morning."

"So does he still have that hair?" Ginny asked.

Hermione sighed. "As a matter of fact, he _does_ have long hair, but it was tied back and it looked a little shaggy."

"I guess it grew back, then," Ginny mused, as she levitated the potatoes toward Hermione, who gratefully plucked them out of the air.

"You know, Ginny, I'm _really_ beginning to wonder about you," Harry said. "Should I start looking into hair potions? I could make my own; it runs in my family, apparently." Ginny pulled him close and kissed him. "I love you in spite of your hair, silly man," she said, smiling. "I'm just trying to add a little excitement to Hermione's job—""Not that I _want_ any excitement with Death Eaters—"Hermione said.

"Well, obviously some witches do—"Ginny replied, after she sat down her fork. "Maybe Gawain is upset because Mr _PlayWizard_ is getting more action than him—" "I know he puts in a lot of hours—""You know," Hermione said, "I wonder how Yaxley was able to schedule time for dates with all those witches back when he was Department Head."

Ginny laughed. "Is that what his job was?" "Yes, just for a year, though," Hermione replied. "I suppose if I'm really desperate to get a date, I could try doing an Imperius on Kingsley and get caught, that seemed to work for him. " Harry and Ginny both laughed.

"Maybe he brewed Amortentia to lure them in?" Harry said. "Except that wouldn't explain why they've stuck with him for the past ten years," Hermione replied, and then said, with a sigh, "Oh, for Merlin's sake, I can't believe I'm even continuing to participate in this conversation. Again—I have to deal with him professionally!"

"_He_ sure as hell doesn't have to deal with, er, professionals," Ginny said. "No Knockturn visits for him!" She floated the platter of sliced roast beef to Harry.

"Ginny!" Hermione said.

"All right, all right—tell us about the others, then, they can't all be as, er, active as him—"

"Well, I already mentioned Avery and Rabastan Lestrange," Hermione began. "Both gits, anyway—"Harry added. Hermione nodded her assent, and continued. "Rodolphus Lestrange seemed rather humbled. Then there was Thorfinn Rowle, he winked at me—"

"Obviously blonds like _you_, then," Ginny said, after she added another helping of potatoes to her plate. "That Memory Charm of yours must have excited him," Harry added.

"Er…then there's Rookwood, he has a really loud voice, like he's doing a constant low-level Sonorous, said he was looking forward to participating." She paused and took a sip of her drink. "Could you pass the water pitcher, please, Harry?"

"What about Dolohov?" Harry asked, after he floated the pitcher to Hermione. "He was fairly quiet and polite, didn't say much—I mean, the whole interview was only about forty-five minutes, Alex asked most of the questions, which were about how long they'd been in prison, what they did before they were incarcerated…"

"They were Death Eater arseholes, then, _that_ part should have been easy! "Harry said.

"Not many of them mentioned that, they talked about their professions and their interests. Dolohov was a Curse-Breaker. Rowle had been trying to play Quidditch professionally when You-Know-Who came back. The Lestranges didn't work; they had investments and so forth. Rookwood, Selwyn, Travers and Yaxley were all at the Ministry…""And had a lot of _extra-curricular _activities—"Ginny interjected.

"I'm going to drop this subject and ask you all to talk about Quidditch; I've just about run my course, "Hermione said. Ginny chuckled. "Sorry. You must _really_ be annoyed. I apologize."

"No, I'm sorry. I'd normally find it rather funny. It's just…it's been a rather long week and I have no idea how long I'm going to be able to emotionally cope with this position, it's a little intense. Well, a lot intense. I suppose I'd feel differently if I hadn't dealt with these wizards during a war."

"I know something that will get your mind off all that—well, kind of," Ginny said. "My brother came by here last night, and you absolutely will _not_ believe who he's dating."

"Oh, yeah," Harry said. "I sure didn't."

"Well?" Hermione said, smiling. After the pleasant conversation with Ron the previous week, she'd overthought the situation, as usual, and come to the conclusion that Ron was a friend, a good friend, even, toward whom she had warm thoughts that were definitely not romantic by any means. Perhaps they had been, at one time, but by the time they'd had their ultimate argument, those feelings had vanished.

"Pansy Parkinson," Ginny said, smirking.

"No!" Hermione said, laughing. "You're kidding!"

"Kidding runs in the family," Ginny said, "But Harry will corroborate.""Yup!" Harry said, also smirking. "Did he bring her here?" Hermione asked. "Yup!" Harry said. "Served 'em drinks and everything—they'd been out to dinner at that fancy Diagon restaurant, the new one—""Vert et Argent?" Hermione asked. "The very one, it's spendy, I hear, but that doesn't bother Ronnikins these days—he was wearing one of those dragon-hide jackets and everything." "Parkinson smirked a lot, but she was polite," Harry added.

"Well, she better had been," Hermione said.

"Ronnikins told me that you told him it was okay to come to Gryffindor Night In, by the way," Ginny said. "That still leaves Parkinson out, though, yeah," Harry said. "Maybe they have a Snakes Evening or something—""It's just as well, after this morning I honestly wouldn't care if I never saw a Slytherin again for a while."

"Awwww, not even a charming one with long hair?" Ginny said. Hermione held up her hand. "_Don't_ start on that again—"

.

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AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Fancasts:

Antonin Dolohov – Michael Huisman  
Rodolphus Lestrange – Rufus Sewell (thank you, Silver Orbed Lioness!)  
Gawain Robards – Sam Heughan  
Augustus Rookwood – Richard Trinder (from the films)  
Thorfinn Rowle – Chris Hemsworth  
Dexter Selwyn – Martin Freeman  
Tobias Travers – Benedict Cumberbatch  
Corban Yaxley – Peter Mullan (from the films)

Everyone else not listed here is as depicted in the films (or feel free to use your own casting). (I didn't bother with an Avery or a Rab Lestrange because of the events in this chapter (although the crappy movie Macnair will do for Avery).

The Ministry, in the cid62-niverse, not canon, has a Temp Office for receptionists, etc.

Alexander Townsend from the US, resident Mind Healer at St Mungo's, is an OC (and I know many readers don't like them, but he has his purpose and hopefully won't be too intrusive). My fancast for him is a youngish (mid-1970s version) Malcolm McDowell, for reasons.

Did I mention that this is a slow burn w/r/t Dolohov? Yeah, I know there's been a lot of Yaxley so far. I like Yaxley. We'll get to Antonin, I promise. I hope you're enjoying things so far. Thank you to all who have reviewed.

Chapter titles are from the song "Favours" by the Delgados.


	4. Chapter 4

THE LUDOVICO TECHNIQUE

_Trigger Warning: Just in case such things are not to your taste, please be aware that this chapter contains lots of cussing and an unredeemed DE referring to and making threats about the sort of stuff that you'd expect, i.e., stalking, murder, rape, etc. If you need to skip this chapter because of that, the tl/dr version is: Yaxley, while clearly a ladies' man, is still a bigot at this point in the story._

_._

_._

Chapter 4 – Could not believe

On Monday morning, Mr Robards looked as if he'd had a rather rough weekend, and Hermione was reminded of the dinner party conversation. She hoped, for everyone's sake, that he got his personal problems worked out soon. He gestured at the stack of files on his desk. "We're going to start from the bottom up with these one-on-one interviews, throw those gits off balance. I suspect _this_ plonker is probably sitting there between wanks coming up with some bullshite sob story for you, damned satyr that he is—"he said, picking up the file at the top of the stack, from which the short-haired version of Yaxley glowered.

_Oh __**no**_, Hermione thought, and wished she'd asked for an extra shot of espresso in her coffee that morning.

Robards continued, "The whole point of this programme is to pull the rug from under them, make them think a different way, change their poisonous thought processes."

Hermione held her hand up gingerly. "No need to raise your hand, Miss Granger—speak up," Robards barked.

"I'd suggest that you start with him, but afterwards, keep it random," she said.

"Good thinking—"he said, and then looked at her. "What else?"

"Well, sir, I haven't got the briefing yet, so I don't exactly know what the programme entails."

Robards growled. "Sorry," then stood up and started pacing. "Going to have to give you the quick and dirty version for now, have got a meeting right after this. The programme involves a process called Aversion Therapy. The inmates will be forced, through a variety of methods, to confront their prejudices and their illegal actions. Apparently they've had success with repeat offenders in America with this, or so Healer Townsend was telling me when we started discussing this a year ago. It's not kind, it's not humane, it may even skirt the edges of legality a bit—but if it can cause at least one of those piece of shite Death Eaters to regret how they nearly destroyed our society, then it'll be bloody well worth it to me."

"So it's based on Muggle psychological principles, then?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, exactly so. And you are not to discuss those details, or any other that you come across as a result of further work, with _anyone_ outside this Department. Anyway, I'd like you to start with that bastard first thing tomorrow morning; I'll get Potter to take you to Azkaban at 0900—_and_ come up with the order for the rest of the interviews for me by 1400 today, because I'm leaving early. Dismissed."

* * *

When Harry appeared in her office door the next morning, levitating two takeaway cups of coffee in front of him, she said, "I swear to Merlin, if you tell Ginny about this before I get a chance, I will never speak to you again, Harry James Potter." She frowned at him as she closed up Yaxley's folder, and stared briefly down at the glowering wizard. _I guess I'd look annoyed, too, if someone cut off my hair in a duel_, she thought.

"Oh, don't worry. I don't want to encourage her obsession with his hair and his sex life, anyway; I'm going to be so relieved when she goes back to work," and he smiled and winked to let her know he wasn't being serious, and sent one of the cups floating her way. "We have a few minutes before we have to go to the Apparition Centre, so drink up."

While Hermione sipped at her coffee, she opened her notebook and looked at the series of questions that Alex had prepared—with advice from both her and Mr Robards—to ask each programme participant. They were not in any logical order, which bothered her—although that was the point. Each inmate would be having an interview with both her and Alex and they'd ask the same questions in differing order, to see if the answers remained consistent. Although originally the interviews were supposed to occur over a two-week period, they'd decided they needed to concentrate on two inmates per week, alternating between each, so the process would stretch out to nearly a month, which, again, was meant to put the inmates off-balance.

_What do you hope to gain from this programme?_

_What are your feelings on your participation in the Second Wizarding War?_

_If you were able to do the last twenty years over, what would you attempt to change and what would you attempt to preserve? _

_What is your opinion on Muggleborns in the wizarding world?_

_How do you feel about being in a programme run by a Muggleborn administrator?_

_What do you think this programme will actually involve?_

_What would you like us to know about you?_

_If you are able to successfully navigate the programme and receive parole, what are your future plans?_

_Are you in contact with your relatives, spouses/partners, or friends? _

_Why did you choose to follow Tom Riddle?_

"I can't believe that I have to ask any of these inmates these questions…but I most especially can't believe that I'm going to ask this particular one that next-to-last one; I'm going to have to forget every single thing Ginny said the other night," Hermione said. Harry looked down at the page. "_Contact_, is that what they call it these days?" "Are you channeling your wife?" His pocketwatch chimed. "Must be! Time to go; don't forget your cloak."

"How long is this interview supposed to last?" Harry asked her, once they'd appeared on the damp flagstones in front of the prison's front door and he'd sent his Patronus through it. "As long as it takes, according to both Alex and Mr Robards," she replied. "Oh, joy." The North Sea wind whipped around the pair, and both clutched at their cloaks as they waited for the guard to open the door, although considering the atmosphere inside, Hermione was just as happy to shiver.

Once again, they were ushered to the room with the table and the line of chairs. Harry used his wand to move one of the chairs closer to the table to facilitate the interview, after which they waited for what seemed like a rather long time. Hermione did a pre-emptive Air-Freshening charm. Eventually, there were two loud raps on the door. The same Auror that had brought the inmates in the previous time backed into the room, moved Yaxley to the chair and secured him, then stood behind him. Harry sat at the table next to Hermione; they glanced at each other and he raised his eyebrow a bit, and she clamped her lips together, took a long slow breath, and finally said "Good morning, Mr Yaxley."

He was looking directly at her, which was a change from the previous meeting. His hair was still tied back, but he was unshaven and he looked exhausted and was rubbing at his prison number tattoo. "Good morning, Miss Granger," he replied, in the same low, gravelly voice that had been burned into her brain ever since their illegal sojourn at the Ministry.

"This is the first in a series of interviews to ascertain your eventual qualification for the Experimental Rehabilitation Programme," Hermione began. "I will ask you several questions. There are no incorrect answers. When I am done, you may ask me any questions you might have, within reason. You do not need to be concise; I'd appreciate honesty." She paused, and he nodded at her. "All right then—what do you hope to gain from this programme?"

"Robards told us that if we finished this programme successfully that parole was a possible option. I don't fucking care what I have ta do as long as I can go home at the end of it, although I expect that's not bloody likely, he'll find some way ta keep me in here if he can." Hermione noted this down, although she was planning to remove the memories of each interview later, put them in a Pensieve, and have Georgina transcribe them.

"What are your feelings about your participation in the Second Wizarding War?" He looked at her incredulously. "Feelings? We fucking well lost, didn't we, then?" So far, Hermione was truly curious as to how this abrupt, brusque, scowling man had been able to charm so many women into visiting him in prison; he seemed rather unlike someone who would rate the nickname of Mr PlayWizard. _Perhaps one had to be a Pureblood to see that side of him_, she thought.

She sighed, rather audibly, but at this point, she didn't care if he heard. "If you had to do the last twenty years over, what would you change and what would you preserve?" she asked, almost mechanically. She'd not read the question as it was written but again, she didn't care. His eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. "Well, I've been in _this_ fucking place for ten years, so I'd definitely change that, not sure how, though, since you and yer little friends destroyed all the Time-Turners, aye?" He looked at her and smirked, and then glanced at Harry. "Were ye the one who did that, Mr Potter? Or did ye do it?" he nodded toward Hermione. "Girlie, if ya were thinkin' that I'd say I wouldn't join up with the Knights or something like that, don't hold yer breath; I'd do that part all over again." He paused. "I know what else I'd change; I'd make sure I didn't lose hold of ya in the fucking Ministry Floo and I'd just AK ya right there, wouldn't I?" He paused again and gave her a long, appraising look. "I might have tried to grab a piece of that sweet arse of yers for meself first, though."

"All right, Yaxley, enough of that; be polite!" the guard said, flicking his wand and doing what appeared to be a mild Knockback Jinx; it had about the same effect as a short blast from a Muggle taser. He grunted and scowled again. "Apologise," Harry said, sharply. "Harry—"Hermione began. "Apologise, Yaxley, or you can say farewell right now to any hope of parole," Harry repeated.

He gave Harry a heated glare, scowled, and muttered, "Sorry."

Hermione decided that it was best just to move on to the next question, and then groaned when she glanced at it. "Er," she began, and sighed. "What is your opinion on Muggleborns in the wizarding world?" she said, not looking forward to his answer.

He actually barked out something that sounded like laughter. "Really?" he asked. "Do I need to answer that?"

"Yes!" Harry said, before Hermione could answer.

"Well, I think _they_ should all fuck back off to the Muggles and stay the fuck away from _us_, obviously," he said, as he looked at her.

By this point, Hermione was irritated enough that Ginny's asides concerning the wizard in front of her were no longer humorous. She definitely would have preferred to hear the 'sob story' that Robards had thought he'd try on her over this impolite effusion of bigotry. On the other hand, she _had_ told him there were no incorrect answers. She growled out the next question, giving him the sort of stink-eye that she had given Ron at school during the Lavender Era. "So, what is your opinion on being in a programme run by a Muggleborn administrator?"

He returned her heated gaze and started to immediately bark a reply, but paused, took a deep breath and said, "Don't have a choice on that score, now, do I?" He raised his eyebrows.

"You don't," she snapped, and inwardly swore to herself that she _would_ see this programme through, if only just to see this particular wizard endure it, or possibly even fail at it and stay behind bars. Had he done a long-term Imperius to charm those witches? He'd managed to control Pius Thicknesse; Harry had told her once that he'd heard from several of his co-workers that the former puppet Minister had been so strong-willed that it was hard for them to believe he'd been manipulated. "So, Mr Yaxley," she said, making his name sound like a curse. "What do you think this programme will actually involve?"

"Like I said before, I don't fucking care, as long as I have a chance of getting out of here at the end of it." _If they asked me right now if he had a chance, he definitely wouldn't, _Hermione thought, and stared him down as if to beam that thought directly to his brain.

"All right then, what would you like us to know about you?" Hermione said, after she paused for a while to ensure she didn't slip some sort of profanity into the question. _She_ most certainly didn't want to know anything more about him than what she'd read in his file and seen on display today. "How in the fuck am I supposed to answer that?" he asked.

Hermione had to stifle laughter. The question _was_ pretty absurd. "I didn't write that question, so I have no bloody idea," she finally said.

"Ask the next one then, girlie," he said, smirking and then winking at her. _Now, that's more like what I was expecting to happen, but that doesn't make it any more palatable_, she thought. She looked up at the Auror behind him hoping for an intervention, but the wizard seemed rather bored; apparently only death or assault threats motivated him to action.

"Er…well, you've already answered part of this one—if you are able to successfully navigate the programme and receive parole, what are your future plans? You said you'd go home, that sounds like a plan to me," Hermione said, trying and failing to keep the annoyance out of her voice. It was obvious that neither one of them wanted to be going through this process. Home sounded good to her, honestly. From what she'd read in his file, he had owned two homes, but one of them had been confiscated, along with a portion of the contents of his Gringotts vault, for reparations. His remaining residence was a lovely country home in Suffolk; she'd looked at the picture of it for a long while—had she not known its provenance, she would have found it idyllic.

"Doesn't it?" he said. "Have had just about enough of this place, even with all the…" and he paused, and looked around at the grim room and then rolled his eyes. "…improvements."

"Didn't stop you from sending all those Muggleborns here, though," she said, unable to resist.

"That was Umbridge's department. I didn't write the laws, I just enforced them. As I told ya, I would have rather had Mudbloods just fuck back off to the Muggles. You had a perfectly nice residence in that world, ya could have just stayed there, gone to Muggle university," he added.

It was a bit specious to say he hadn't written the laws, because he (or rather, his family) had a Wizengamot seat, and thus he'd been involved in getting them codified. Upon hearing his last sentence, she bristled. Her suspicions had been correct, then, the Death Eaters had targeted both her _and_ her parents; somehow, this information had never come out in the trials. Her parents were still in Australia living as Wendell and Monica Wilkins, regardless of her efforts—combined with those of Bill Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt—to lift the charm she'd done to remove their memories of her. Harry glanced at her; he knew the story. "Pardon, what did you just say?"

"I'm certain ya understood what I meant," he said, sharply. "What's the next fucking question, then?"

"Specifically, before we go on, I want to know what you meant about _my residence_," she said, glaring at him. "Went there, didn't I, with Tosha. It was deserted," he said, then looked down at the floor, as if he was remembering that visit. "Tosha?" she asked, and then realised who that must be. "Dolohov, you mean.""Aye," he grunted. She made a note to herself to corroborate this information; having it confirmed this way was disturbing, and she wondered just exactly how closely they'd all managed to escape. That was two near misses from this particular wizard.

After a couple of minutes, he looked up at her and asked, "So what's the next question?" He rubbed at his prison number and then scratched his unshaven cheek, and scowled, but not directly at her.

"Well, I don't need to ask all of it, because you're clearly in contact with your _friends_, "she said, adding a bit of sarcastic emphasis to the word. "And your _spouses or partners_," she added, raising her eyebrows and giving him a look worthy of Pansy Parkinson at her most catty. "I suppose I just need to know if you are in contact with any of your _relatives_, although I wouldn't blame them if they disavowed all knowledge of you, considering that you were on the losing side."

"Now _ye're_ the one not bein' polite, Miss Granger," he said, smirking at her.

"Is that so?" she asked. "However, _you're_ the one who wanted to know the next question; why not answer me so we can get on with it."

"Me parents are dead, I am the last of my line so I have no close relatives, and many of me friends are here, as ya know. Also, as ye _obviously_ are aware, there are several witches who visit me on a monthly basis, subject to Ministry guidelines…and they're all well pleased with the _contact_ I give 'em," he added, continuing to smirk.

_Good Godric, he'd made the same joke as Harry had earlier_! "I find that _extremely_ _hard_ to believe," Hermione said, before considering her wording, and then she clamped her lips together and prayed to every deity she could think of that she wouldn't blush. She slipped her hand down and flicked her wand ever so slightly to compose herself. It partially worked.

He chuckled. "_They_ find it extremely hard as well, Miss Granger," he said, as he looked her right in the eye.

"Shut it, Yaxley!" Harry barked. "And apologise again!"

"Sorry," he said, insincerely. "Is that all the questions, then?" he added, attempting and failing to sound innocent.

Hermione decided she had already gotten a _de facto_ answer to the tenth question, so she nodded, and said, "Yes. You may now ask me any questions you have…._within reason_," she added, clamping her lips together again.

"Don't have any," he said, after a couple of minutes. "At least not today; they woke me up three hours in advance for this fucking interview and I want to go back to bed." He looked at her and smirked, yet again. She decided that all the smirking probably had something to do with poor dental hygiene, and as she had no desire to find out specifics on that front, she ignored him.

"Fine," she said. "I guess we're done here, Harry." "Works for me," Harry said, motioning to the Auror behind Yaxley. "Get him out of here." The Auror flicked his wand, released the chains binding Yaxley to the chair, then yanked him up none too gently and shoved him toward the door. He turned his head just as he reached the doorway, looked straight at Hermione, licked his lips, and winked.

She made a small, disgruntled noise as the Auror shoved him through the door and closed the door behind him.

"I _hate_ this job," Hermione groaned, after she closed her notebook. "Look on the bright side," Harry said. "Only six more to go!" "I hate you, too, Harry," she said. He smiled and said, "You do not—because I'm taking you to Madley's Magical Ice Cream Shoppe before we go back to the Ministry."

* * *

"If that's what passes for charm among Pureblood society I don't feel as if I'm missing out on much," Hermione said, after they'd gotten their sundaes and sat down at one of the sidewalk tables. As it was late March and there was still a chill in the air, Hermione did a Warming Charm around them.

"Yeah, I've been debating what to say to Ginny about it, I really hate shattering her illusions about _Mr PlayWizard_," Harry said, chuckling.

"Well, he was being a _bit_ flirtatious, I suppose, as much as he could be to someone like me," Hermione said, and then she paused. "I'm hardly an appropriate witch to lavish his charms on. But he has been in prison for ten years so he's rough around the edges. Oh. I get it now." She took a bite of her ice cream and smiled. "Yeah, that all makes sense."

"_What_ makes sense?" Harry asked.

"Well, he said he was the last of his line—"Hermione began, as she sat down her spoon, pulled out her notebook and began writing furiously in it. "He's got all those witches visiting because he wants an heir. But they can only show up once a month, and at least two of them are married, not sure how that would work, but I guess if one of them gets pregnant they'd figure something out. You'd think he would have beaten the odds by now…"

"Oh!" Harry said.

"Alex told me that the ultimate purpose of these one-on-one interviews was to discover what was most important to each of the inmates, so I guess he just needs to check my work and I can call this one done—" she finished writing with a flourish, closed her notebook, and then picked up her spoon again and took another bite. "As for Ginny—well, if _she_ went to visit him…er, she is a Pureblood," and she winked at Harry.

"As if I'd ever let her anywhere near _him_," he said. "Anyway, Gawain told me you set the interview order, so who's next?"

"Dolohov," she said, dejectedly, as she sat down her spoon. "I have him scheduled for Thursday, same time." She paused. "Harry, I want to stop at the Daily Prophet before we go back so I can enter the Galleon Draw contest. Who knows, I might win and become independently wealthy so I can quit this job," she said, picking her spoon up and dipping it forcefully into the chocolate sauce.

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AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Fancasts:

Antonin Dolohov-Michael Huisman  
Rodolphus Lestrange – Rufus Sewell (thank you, Silver Orbed Lioness!)  
Gawain Robards – Sam Heughan  
Augustus Rookwood – Richard Trinder (from the films)  
Thorfinn Rowle – Chris Hemsworth  
Dexter Selwyn – Martin Freeman  
Tobias Travers – Benedict Cumberbatch  
Alexander Townsend, Mind Healer – Malcolm McDowell (circa 1970s)  
Corban Yaxley – Peter Mullan (from the films)

Everyone else not listed here is as depicted in the films (or use your own casting)

Oh, unredeemed Yaxley, how I have not missed ye. (If you'd like to see the redeemed version, albeit in a slightly different universe with a Marriage Law trope and a slacker Hermione, vide "Love for Tender") Anyway…on to the next randomly selected DE….Dolohov!

Chapter titles are from the song "Favours" by the Delgados.


	5. Chapter 5

THE LUDOVICO TECHNIQUE

_Trigger warning: This is not going to be a very happy fic from here on out, not that it ever was from the beginning! There is psyop torture and mention of other triggery stuff in here. This would be the time to bail if you were looking for something a bit lighter. If not…on with the show._

Chapter 5 – That she didn't chase me

On Wednesday, Alex went to Azkaban for his one-on-one meeting with Yaxley. When he returned later that morning, he asked Hermione to come into his office and immediately put up sound-muffling charms. He summoned a Pensieve from the top of his credenza and sat it on the desk, then pulled strands of memory out and dropped them into the shining, swirling mass, as she watched, enthralled.

"After we had our meeting yesterday, I decided to accelerate things a bit for him as well as testing out your theory, that family and an heir were the most important things to him—you were absolutely correct, by the way," he added. "Go on and see for yourself."

She dipped her head down into the Pensieve and landed on the floor of the Azkaban meeting room, where Alex sat at the front table along with Auror Proudfoot. There was a large briefcase sitting on the table next to the two wizards. When the two knocks sounded on the door and the guard dragged Yaxley in, she instinctively got out of the way, although it wasn't necessary. The interview was much the same as the one she'd had with him, although he neither threatened nor attempted to flirt with Alex, and he seemed a little less dour.

Toward the end of the interview, Alex turned to Auror Proudfoot and nodded. The latter wizard stood up and ushered the guard standing behind Yaxley to the door and both exited quickly. Yaxley's eyebrows rose high and he immediately asked, "What's this all about?" Alex merely flicked his wand and moved the restraint chair closer to the table, flicked his wand at Yaxley and did a _Petrificus Totalus_ on him, then muttered _Silencio_ as well as a third spell that Hermione didn't hear, ran his wand over himself so that he was Disillusioned, and lastly waved his wand toward the briefcase, which opened. A cloud of black smoke emanated from the case and swirled around, eventually taking the form of an older wizard wearing elaborate green robes. He had white-blond hair pulled back in a queue and superficially resembled Yaxley, except that he had a neatly combed white beard. In the chair, Yaxley's eyes (the only part of him that could move) grew wide as the wizard stalked toward him.

"Corban Thomas, you are a disappointment, little better than a Squib, a disgrace to our Ancient House! I suspect your vital fluid is imperfect; I blame your mother and her pathetic family! You should have died, instead of your brother."

Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth. _A Boggart_, she thought. _And he's got absolutely no way to banish it, no wand, and he's silenced so he can't even laugh to try and get rid of it, and there are no other people for it to focus on._

The illusionary wizard kept going, tearing into the inmate, "The witches you have chosen to try and carry on the line are not worthy; you're cuckolding two of your friends—if their wives bear sons, they will want their name on them, not ours! One of those witches is after what's left of our family fortune and will take all your Galleons and leave you with nothing, especially not an heir. And that last one is too old, practically dried up, and she loves another. How can you be so foolish to think that any of them want the disgusting attentions of a scoundrel like you, a wastrel who was witless enough to get locked away in prison! You called yourself a Knight of Walpurgis and you are not even worthy to be a page. Just look at yourself…our family will become extinct while your worthless carcass rots away here!

_Oh, my Merlin_, Hermione thought. _How long is Alex going to allow this to continue? _The wizard, who Hermione assumed was a representation of Yaxley's deceased father, ranted for another couple of minutes along the same lines, until, abruptly, Alex ended the Disillusionment Charm on himself and stepped toward the boggart, which morphed into a rabid dog. "_Riddikulus_!" Alex intoned, and the dog was instantly wearing a party hat, a tutu, and bright pink flip-flops; he laughed and it vanished.

Only then did he wave his wand and end the spells on Yaxley, who instantly slumped over in the chair and hung his head. He then stepped toward him and waved his wand so that the other wizard sat up straight. The expression on his face was indescribable, somewhere in the neighborhood of fear and despair. "I want to go back to me cell now," he muttered. There was a stain on the front of his trousers. Hermione was glad that Pensieves didn't have olfactory memories embedded.

"We've not completed the interview, Mr Yaxley, you still have two more questions to answer," Alex said, as he walked over to the door and opened it. The Aurors filed back in and resumed their places. Alex flicked his wand at Yaxley and muttered, "Scourgify."

"Auror Proudfoot, please take me back to me cell," Yaxley said.

"Are you done with the interview, Healer Townsend?" Proudfoot asked.

"I am not," Alex said, as he sat back down behind the table. "Mr Yaxley, why did you choose to follow Voldemort?"

_In the questionnaire we agreed on, we called him Tom Riddle_, Hermione thought. Yaxley noticeably flinched, but remained silent.

"Answer the question, sir," Alex said, in a deceptively polite tone.

"I wanted to keep the wizarding world pure," he said. "He promised that would be the case, and all who helped him would be richly rewarded."

"Well, I can see how well that worked out for you," Alex said, sneering. "Last question, how do you feel about the Muggleborn administrator of this programme? Doesn't she rather put the lie to all that bigoted blood purity bullshit? I've read all about your fellow 'Knights.' Miss Granger could defeat most of them in a duel with one hand tied behind her back. And _you_ thought she should have stayed in the Muggle world and gone to university." He paused.

_Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, Alex,_ Hermione thought. _I rather think he's overstating my abilities_. Of course, he _had_ actually attended a Muggle university, but that was likely much more common in America.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have _her_ as a wife instead of all those problematic consorts? Of course, she would hardly be interested in someone like _you_, especially now," Alex continued, looking pointedly at the other wizard.

"She's a Mudblood," Yaxley said. "Family tradition says I can't marry her, even if I wanted to!"

Alex smirked. "All right, I've heard enough. You've used that word….let me see here….five times so far in this interview. I'm keeping a tally, so remember that number for next time." He paused. "We're done here, Auror Proudfoot—"Proudfoot stood up and opened the door, then motioned to the other Auror, who released Yaxley and shoved him out the door. The memory ended and Hermione stood up straight.

"Is that legal?" Hermione asked.

"I performed no Unforgivable Curses," Alex said, after a pause. "I assume you got the briefing from Robards. He's signed off on all aspects of the program."

"And what was that spell you did, after the Petrificus and the Silencio?"

"That was a Confundus Charm variant. I made him believe that he was actually at his house, at some unspecified time when his father was still alive."

"That's….horrid," Hermione said.

"His crimes were horrid; he admitted to another one in the interview you had with him! What do you think he and his crony Dolohov would have done if you and your parents had been there?" Alex asked.

"I…I've been trying to not think about that for ten years; that's why I sent my parents away. The Order hadn't taken me seriously when I warned them that something like that might happen, they didn't assist."

"He said straight out that he would have raped you and then killed you if he had the chance," Alex continued. "I suspect it would have been along those lines."

"I…I'm sure it would have, but we were in a war—"Hermione said, backing away from the Pensieve.

"Hermione," Alex said. "This programme is not meant to victimise the innocent. We need to step away from this for, oh, about an hour or so. Let's go to the café and get some tea and a snack, and then take a walk in Muggle London. Georgina should come with us, as well. And I don't want you to be by yourself tonight, is there somewhere you can go?" He looked at her. "Yes, I can Floo call my friends, I'm sure someone will be available."

"Good. I'd like to do a Cheering Charm on you now, with your permission, of course," he said. She nodded.

* * *

On Thursday morning, Hermione and Harry came in to work together, as she'd spent the night in the guest room at Grimmauld Place. By prior agreement, they'd not discussed anything about their jobs the previous evening. Ginny was extremely curious but she went along with it; multiple games of Gobstones and Exploding Snap were played, James, Albus and Lily ran around (or crawled around) like hooligans, dinner was served buffet style, and a good time was had by all.

As they exited the Ministry Floo and walked through the Atrium toward the lifts, Harry turned to Hermione. "Since we're here now, I should ask. Are you up to dealing with Dolohov today? You could always move the order around and call in one of the other ones, maybe Selwyn? I'm not even sure I recall what he actually did."

"Went after us at Luna's house, for one," Hermione said, as she slowed down to look at the candy displayed in front of the news stand. Harry reached over and grabbed two of her favorite Honeydukes Dark bars, purchased them, and handed them to her.

"Oh, you don't have to do that," she said. "Yes, I do," he said, as he grabbed several packets of Chocolate Frogs and ordered an espresso. "What do you want to drink?" She ordered a latte and after she got it, they headed toward the lifts; there was a rather long queue for them.

"Shite," Harry mumbled, as his watch chimed. "We're going to have to go straight to the Apparition Centre—""I have everything with me," Hermione said. "I'd rather just get this one over with."

Their arrival at Azkaban and escort to the group meeting room proceeded as before. There was an even longer wait for Dolohov than there had been for Yaxley, and Hermione wondered if they'd possibly had to wake him up. Just as the two knocks sounded on the door, she remembered to cast the Air-Freshening Charm. Dolohov was led in and seated in the restraint chair. He looked worse than he had the previous week. _Weren't there supposed to be Healer visits and regular cleanliness checks?_ she thought. He looked up at her and smiled tentatively. She did not return his smile.

"Good morning, Mr Dolohov," she said, and then quickly glanced down at her notebook, although at this point she had effectively memorized the questions.

"_Dobroe utro_, Miss Granger," he said. "Good morning," he repeated, in a heavily accented voice. "I will try to use only English."

"I'd, er, I'd appreciate that," she said. "I'm not sure if you've spoken with Mr Yaxley, if you have, he might have told you what this interview is about—"

"Banya is not speaking to anyone now, Miss Granger. He came back from meeting with Healer yesterday and pretends he is asleep." He reached up and scratched the top of his head. Hermione was glad she'd performed the charm as she observed white flakes falling down from his hair as he did so.

"I see," Hermione said; she considered asking about the nickname, but decided that could wait. "Well, I have a few questions to ask you, there are no incorrect answers. This is to see if you qualify for the Experimental Rehabilitation Programme."

"_Da_," Dolohov said. "I understand."

"All right then—what is your opinion on Muggleborns in the wizarding world?" she said. _Might as well jump right in to it_.

"I think they come in and know not of our ways, and it cause problems for all," he said.

"Well, that's one way to look at it," Hermione replied. "What do you hope to gain from this programme?"

"I want out of prison. I want to go home," he said.

"Where is home, Mr Dolohov? There is nothing in your file about that," she said, after glancing down at her notes to ensure she hadn't missed anything. She assumed he was from Russia, but there was no home town or schooling information in his file; possibly the Ministry hadn't considered it important, as he was going to be serving a life sentence.

"I have room with Banya," he said.

"Well, what if he doesn't get out when you do?" Hermione asked. Clearly, the files were deficient in many regards, but especially so when it came to interpersonal relationships among the inmates. He and Yaxley had worked together on numerous occasions during the war, including, of course, the visit to her former house, but it sounded as if the two wizards were closer than that. _Were they possibly more than friends_, she mused. It didn't seem on the surface as if Yaxley was inclined that way, but maybe his excess of female companions was all for show, and, of course, to continue his family. As that question was not on the list, she noted it down for Alex to explore later.

"I will go there and wait for him," Dolohov said. Hermione raised her eyebrows. "What if he never gets out?" she finally asked.

"That would be sad, Miss Granger," he replied. "I would miss him. We are close friends, like brothers. Not like what you are thinking; we both like witches," he added. She sighed; obviously she'd somehow projected those thoughts to him, and they'd got through the miasmic sludge of the magic-dampening charms. It was best to change the subject; she lined through the note she'd just made.

"So, what do you think this programme will actually involve?"

"I do not know and I have not given thought," he said, after a long pause. "Banya says that by the end that we will wish we had not done it."

From what Hermione had seen so far, that seemed a fair assessment. "Why do you call him that?" she asked. "And he's got a nickname for you as well."

"Familiar name for Corban," Dolohov said. "And he calls me Tosha, same for Antonin," he added, and smirked. "Your friends do not have such names for you?"

_Well, Ron used to have_, she thought. _But I hated it_. "Not really," she finally said. "Next question, somewhat related, what are your future plans if you do finish this programme successfully and get parole?"

"Your name is Hermione," he said, and although he had a rather heavy accent, he did not mispronounce it, as Viktor had. "I would probably call you Myushka," he added.

"Mr Dolohov, that's not what I asked," Hermione said, sighing.

"I have no future plans other than going to Banya's house," he said. "That is why I did not answer."

"Very well, next question then," she said. He was making her very uncomfortable, not only because just being in the same room with him reminded her of the time after the Department of Mysteries raid. She still had a purple scar on her abdomen, and she still took a potion every week that was supposed to have made it vanish by now. The scar, she noted absently, was throbbing, as if it recognized its maker. _Might as well move on to meatier subjects_, she thought. She glanced over at Harry, who had been uncharacteristically silent during her questions, and realized that he had his eyes closed, but was still sitting upright, which she found a bit amusing. The Auror at the door and the one behind Dolohov seemed alert, though. "What are your feelings on your participation in the Second Wizarding War?" she asked.

He barked out a rather short laugh. "We lost."

"Yes, well, I'd say that's rather obvious, and as I didn't write that question, we'll just move on then, shall we? Why did you choose to follow…er, Tom Riddle?" she asked, grimacing a bit at the name.

"For the power, and promises he made. Of course all promises were lies, all he wanted was to live forever," he added.

"Yes," Hermione said. "That seemed rather obvious at the end. Are you in contact with any of your friends, other than those who are here, or relatives, or….er, spouses or similar?"

"Just the ones here," Dolohov said. "No close relatives. No consorts either," he said, giving her a small smile, which, like the previous one, she chose to ignore.

"If you had the last twenty years to do over," she began, and his eyebrows rose, "What would you choose to change?"

"I would not get caught, Miss Granger. I have been here for a very long time," he added, although of course, she knew that. "I would still fight you. We were in a war."

"We were," she replied. "So, how do you feel about being in a programme run by a Muggleborn administrator?"

"Nothing I can do about it," he said, after a while. "Not my decision." She noted that down. His terse responses were certainly preferable to Yaxley's bigoted ones, and his crude attempts at flirtation.

"Last question," she began, and he smiled at her again. She was beginning to find it rather creepy, and not just because of the appalling state of his dental health. "What would you like us to know about you?"

There was the longest pause yet, during which he stared at her. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he'd won whatever competition he'd created in his mind, so she stared back. He had light blue eyes that seemed almost incongruously placed among his heavy, dark features. She could read nothing from his expression.

"I do not know how to answer that," he finally replied. "Strange question." She was beginning to suspect that Alex had just tossed it in to the rotation to throw the inmates off balance.

"I guess we're done here, then," and she reached over and nudged Harry, who had indeed fallen asleep whilst sitting up.

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AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Russian:

_Dobroe utro_ \- Good morning

_Da_ \- Yes

To my anon reviewer: It appears that a few conversations in the first couple of chapters got smushed (technical term!) together when I uploaded them. I have fixed that issue. Thank you for reading!

Pensieves are alternately described in canon as rather rare and permanent fixtures and movable bowls. I'm going with the latter.

Also, I made an executive decision that American witches and wizards occasionally attend Muggle universities, even though the Pottermore material and the FB films don't really show that. But this is an AU, so go figure.

Chapter titles are from the song "Favours" by the Delgados.


	6. Chapter 6

THE LUDOVICO TECHNIQUE

Chapter 6 – Climbed on her back

That night, Hermione had a lot of trouble getting to sleep; after tossing and turning, listening to music, reading a chapter or two out of one of her current books, and drinking warm milk, she finally took a half-dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion, and woke up five minutes before she needed to leave for the Ministry. _Thank Merlin for magic_, she thought, as she whipped her wand around her bedroom doing various freshening-up charms, summoning her clothes, performing a _Revestire_ charm to get dressed, and then finally doing a French-braid charm she'd learned from Parvati.

When she reached the office suite, Alex was pacing around the reception area; Georgina had not yet arrived. "Let's have a meeting," he said, ushering her into his office.

"Did you look at the Dolohov interview?" she asked, as she sat down in the chair near his desk.

He continued pacing near the large board on the wall that had pictures and notes on each of the inmates. "Oh, yes. Lots to think about there; I read through your notes as well. He's a cagey one, that's for sure. It probably would have been easier for all of us if he _were_ in a relationship with 'Banya'. I think I'm going to just do his interview without any extra additions today; next week, we can start on…" he let his voice drift off, and Hermione supplied, "Rowle and Selwyn are the next on the list."

"Yes, them," he said. "I'm really not looking forward to Dolohov; I can't tell what his long game is."

"Well, I mean, you saw the interview. He said he just wanted to get out of prison," Hermione truly wished she'd stopped for coffee on the way in.

"They all want that, I'm sure," Alex said. "By the way, I got an owl from a Mr Malfoy," he added, picking up a piece of parchment as he walked by his desk. "Says he has a proposal for after the programme ends, if any of them actually make it through."

"Which Mr Malfoy?" Hermione asked. "And why didn't he send me an owl as well?"

"You may very well have one, there were several letters on Georgina's desk when I came in, but I only took the ones addressed to me. And it's from Draco Malfoy."

Hermione did not bother to engage her filter. "What the bloody hell does that damned ferret want?"

Alex laughed. "I want to hear the story behind _that_! He's suggesting a work-release programme for those who successfully complete rehabilitation; he apparently owns a nightclub and is looking for workers to do relatively menial tasks."

"How does he even know what we're doing here? I thought this programme was classified."

"Just the details are classified; apparently he's in contact with several of the inmates." He looked closely at the parchment. "From what he's saying here, it seems the information came via our good buddy Yaxley…but it's not entirely clear to me how that happened."

"He may heard about it through his mother; I'll explain later," Hermione said, sighing. "I hope he sent me an owl as well, but we have history. Look, I'm going to need some caffeine before I continue dealing with more of this rubbish today."

"Good plan," Alex said, as he waved his wand toward the door. "I'll walk down with you on the way to the Apparition Centre."

* * *

After she saw Alex off, she acquired a cappuccino then took the long way back through the DMLE main reception area, but almost turned round when she spotted Mafalda Hopkirk sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs, paging through a battered copy of _Witch Weekly_. She waved at Janet, who said, "Wait—this witch is here to speak with someone from your Office; she asked for Alex but I suppose you can help."

"Alex is off to Azkaban and will be back this afternoon," Hermione said, inwardly groaning as she attempted to avoid Hopkirk, who was now glaring at her.

"You'll do, Miss Granger," Madam Hopkirk said. Hermione attempted, unsuccessfully, to adhere a mask of politeness to her face and replied, "All right then, come on through, please."

Hermione sipped at her cappuccino and burnt her tongue as they walked silently together down the short hallway. She wished she'd bought a pastry or a bottle of water, as her stomach gurgled in revolt. Although there were more than a few Ministry employees with the odd bottles of Firewhisky in their desk drawers, she didn't, as a rule, condone drinking at work, but she now understood the impulse. She told Georgina she'd be in a meeting as she passed by her desk, then ushered Madam Hopkirk into her office.

There was no point in pretending she didn't know who the woman was, or the likely subject of the upcoming meeting, so she immediately said, "Good morning, Madam Hopkirk. What can I help you with today?"

"Good morning, Miss Granger. I'm here to discuss my gentleman friend, who is a volunteer on your Office's experimental programme," she replied. She was no longer frowning but she was certainly not happy.

_Interesting choice of wording_, Hermione thought. He'd certainly not acted gentlemanly toward her, but what else would one call him? She decided to address the other looming presence between them first and said, "Before we go on, Madam Hopkirk, I feel it necessary to apologise to you for my actions during the War. You wrote me a letter, which I did not acknowledge or return, and I've been avoiding you for years."

"There's no reason to apologise for that, Miss Granger. You did what was necessary, which is what I said in that letter. It was a difficult time for everyone in our world; it was impossible to know who to depend on and who to trust."

"Thank you for your understanding," Hermione said. There was a pause, during which neither of them seemed to know where to look or what to say. "So, er, your gentleman friend?" Hermione finally asked.

"Yes, Tobias Travers," she said. "We worked together both before and during the War. "

Hermione did her level best to not look surprised while she reached for her quill and made a note saying "_Talk to Alex re: Y_," hoping that Hopkirk couldn't read upside down. "Didn't you request visitation with one of the _other_ program volunteers as well?" She hoped that Madam Hopkirk didn't know the visitation requests were supposed to be confidential; on the other hand, the other three applicants for Yaxley's attentions had hardly worried about that. _Good Godric_, she thought, _this is supposed to be a criminal rehabilitation office, and not the setting of a lurid romance novel_…and with that, she immediately thought of Ginny's comments and wished she hadn't.

Hopkirk frowned again. "I did, but I prefer the company of Tobias," she finally said. Hermione couldn't blame her.

"Er, this Office doesn't oversee those visits," Hermione replied. "You'd have to ask Janet about that."

"I've already filled out my request for this month," Hopkirk said. "I received an owl from, er, my other friend on the programme," she began. Hermione nodded, indicating that she should continue. "He said it was horrid and he wished he'd taken one of the other choices but he gave no details."

"He can't; the specific details of this programme are classified. The participants have to sign a magically binding contract stating they won't discuss it. If they do, they're instantly disqualified and they need to wait three years before making another choice." Hermione noted, in runic lettering, hoping that Hopkirk couldn't read them, '_Y wrote to H re: ERP_.'

"I understand. I came here because I would like to know what the other choices are that he mentioned; are they classified as well?

"Not to my knowledge; there are only two: remaining on their life sentences or deportation," Hermione said, as she added, _'H seeing both T and Y' _to her notes.

"Deportation to where?" Hopkirk asked, as she fidgeted with her purse.

"A fairly remote part of New Zealand; however, if they have a sponsor, it can be elsewhere, just not Britain, Scotland, or Ireland."

"What is involved in being a sponsor and how long do they have to wait?" Hermione was glad that she and Alex had discussed this particular subject over coffee the other morning while she was attempting to avoid re-reading inmate files. It was one of the many things that Mr Robards had not explained to her. "A sponsor needs to have a completely clean Ministry record and the means to provide support to the inmate for at least five years. There is a one-year waiting period if the inmate chooses to leave the experimental programme and take this option. I have the packet of forms to fill out if you would like one." She opened her desk drawer and withdrew a sheaf of parchment.

"I would," Hopkirk said. "I have family in Australia; they own quite a bit of land and have been trying to entice me to live there for years; I wish I'd gone before the war started." _In many ways, and ironically, to avoid the same wizard, so do I_, Hermione thought. She noted _'H offering to sponsor T for dept. to Aus'_.

"You may fill this out at your leisure, or I can offer you space in our private waiting area to fill it out now," Hermione said, standing up. "And I can tell you that there is likely to be very little issue with this getting approved." _Well, other than me attempting to track down Mr Robards to get the bloody thing signed_, she thought, but likely Hopkirk understood Ministry bureaucracy.

* * *

When Alex returned, she immediately called him into her office and nodded at him to begin. "First—the Dolohov interview was uneventful; he said exactly the same things he said to you. Well, he didn't try to give me a nickname, though; I was hoping for 'Sasha'."

"_I'm_ hoping he forgets that nonsense the next time I speak with him," Hermione said. "Oh, that reminds me." She reached in her bag for a bottle of potion, which she sat on her desk, uncorked, and then drank.

"What's all that about?"

"Dolohov's curse. At least I only have to drink it once a week now."

"You'll have to tell me about that, too," he said.

"Yeah—I have a history with a few of these inmates," Hermione said. "As well as Draco Malfoy; it turns out that he did send a very polite owl, requesting a meeting."

"Let's make him wait," Alex said.

"I intend to," Hermione replied, pulling out the notes she'd made earlier that day and the form that Madam Hopkirk had returned. "It looks like we're going to lose Travers from the programme, by the way—to deportation. _And_ we've got an answer to that cryptic business that Yaxley's Boggart said."

"Are those two things related?" Hermione pushed the sheaf of parchment toward Alex, whose eyes flicked over it quickly. "Huh," he said. "Well, he wasn't a very interesting subject anyway," he added. "We'll have a memory to view later next week; I'm going to have to adjust some things," he added. "Let's move Rowle and Selwyn back by two weeks. I want to concentrate on these first two for a while."

"Er, don't we need to follow the schedule?" She glanced up at the board on the wall, which read, "Group Interview (Completed) —Individual Interviews (2 out of 7 Completed)—Decision Process (To Be Completed) —Programme Officially Begins"

"Oh, no—we've already _begun_ the programme," Alex said. "All of that is window dressing to put the participants at ease. We'll continue to pay lip service to that schedule, of course, but considering these recent events I see no reason to brook bureaucratic delay."

"But—"

"Just go with it, Hermione," Alex said. "Remember, we're working with some former, er, public servants here. The more they think this is all normal procedure, the better; meanwhile, I'm slowly backing them toward the rabbit hole."

* * *

Hermione did her level best, that weekend, to forget about her new position. She read some escapist literature, went for a couple of long walks, and had Sunday dinner with Harry and Ginny (while the kids were at the Burrow). On Monday, she finally tracked down Mr Robards and had a short meeting with him during which she gave him Hopkirk's application to sponsor Travers; he agreed to fast-track it as much as he could.

Late Thursday afternoon, Alex called her into his office and did the standard locking and warding charms. The Pensieve sat on his desk.

"All right, this one's going to be a bit different," he said, gesturing at the artifact. "The Conjugal Visit Programme—you are aware that those visits are supervised, correct?"

"I wasn't aware," Hermione said.

"There's a guard; they remain under Disillusionment and Silencing Charms. After the visits are complete, the guards make a report and get their memories removed. Normally, the memories are destroyed if there's nothing untoward going on."

Hermione was speechless. "You mean they get to see, er, everything…" and she let her words drift off as she stared down at the swirling mass of the Pensieve.

"Oh yes," Alex said. "And I've been given permission to use those memories any way I see fit."

"Whose memory—I mean, of course it's the guard's—who are the subjects of this memory?"

"Hopkirk and Yaxley," Alex said. "He's the one who gets the most visits; he's got three more scheduled over the next three months, just like you mentioned the other day."

"I don't want to see them, you know, er…engaging in…."she looked at Alex incredulously. "You can do a charm to move the memory along quickly, or stop it if necessary, and of course you don't have to look directly at them," Alex said, chuckling. She'd not known about the charms and was immediately intrigued at the chance to learn something new. Just as she was about to ask him for the details, she thought of something. "But, wait—is this a _recent_ memory?"

"The visit was this past weekend," Alex said.

"But I thought she would have canceled it."

"No, she applied for one with Travers and scheduled it too, that's happening this upcoming weekend. He talked to the warden and sent an owl; he's officially off our programme, by the way."

"Good, at least I don't have to see _his_ private bedroom business," Hermione snapped. "I'm uncomfortable with this, Alex."

"As I said the other day, this is the very same wizard who said he'd have raped you if he'd got the chance, the one who stalked you and your parents, as well," Alex said. "Do you _really_ have a problem with invading his privacy?"

"Not _his_," Hermione said. She'd given some thought to the matter and had concluded that Yaxley had (literally in this case, she supposed) made his own bed and could bloody well lie in it. "But Madam Hopkirk's; we have a complicated history."

"Look at it this way—she'll be leaving the country soon enough. But I get it; I have to keep reminding myself that I'm essentially living in a small town where most people know each other, or at the very least, know of each other," Alex said. "Here, let me show you the charms; they're pretty simple." He spent a few minutes teaching her the incantations, and laughed when Hermione called the first one "fast-forward."

"Go on, go in and test the charms—the first few minutes are the guards bringing him in, and then they're sitting there eating and talking." Alex smiled at her.

She dipped her head into the Pensieve, where she landed on the floor in a dark, dank hallway, which she was viewing from the point of view of a guard; she immediately stepped to the side and the memory obligingly expanded so that she could walk next to him. His wand was extended, pointing at the back of an inmate who had long blond hair tied back in a queue. The guard urged him along; another guard, who was backing down the hallway in front of them, opened a doorway and shoved Yaxley through it.

Hermione paused the memory, then fast-forwarded it and rewound it; all the charms worked as they were meant to. She continued on in the narrative when they entered the room, which was small, painted a rather dingy off-white, and sparsely decorated with a table and four chairs, a sink, a screen (which possibly hid a loo) and a double bed; there were three platters sitting on the table, as well as a pitcher of what looked like butterbeer. The first guard waved his wand over the items on the table and nodded; the second guard Stunned Yaxley, who crumpled to the floor, after which the first guard pulled a chair over in the corner, sat in it, and Disillusioned himself. The spell didn't affect his point of view.

A knock came at the door and Madam Hopkirk was ushered in. She was wearing simple robes and carrying neither purse nor wand. The second guard Rennervated Yaxley, pulled him roughly up, and shoved him toward the table. He stumbled a bit and sat down heavily in one of the chairs, as the guard said, "You have four hours," and departed, slamming the door behind him.

Hopkirk sat down across from him and he took her hand. "As always, I'm sorry ya have to see me this way, sweetheart," he said.

"Oh, Corry," she began. Hermione grimaced; this was precisely the sort of thing that she hadn't wanted to hear. "It's all right."

"Let's eat and then I need to get cleaned up," Yaxley said, lifting the lid off one of the platters. "Thank you for bringing this; it smells so good." Hermione recognized the food as coming from the Leaky Cauldron. He smiled widely and then dug in to his cottage pie, taking big gulps of the butterbeer between bites of food whilst Hopkirk picked at her bangers and mash. They ate in silence for the first ten minutes, but Hermione didn't fast-forward as she didn't want to miss anything. Finally, he wiped his mouth with his napkin and said, "Will ya be coming ta visit next month as well?"

"You know perfectly well that one of the _others_ got next month," Hopkirk replied, rather snippily.

"Er…well," he said, looking a bit dismayed.

"What, you really thought after all these years I didn't know about them?" she asked. Hermione had been wondering exactly that. Possibly Hopkirk had convinced herself, at first, that the Ministry was being deliberately obstructionist, or possibly she'd run in to one of the other witches while filling out the forms.

"None of them matter to me as much as you do," he said.

"Is that so?" she said, before she took a sip of butterbeer.

"Ya know that the only reason I'm on that damned programme is ta try and get parole so we can get married like we used ta talk about."

"That was a very long time ago, Corry," she said, blotting her mouth with her napkin.

"And I've never forgotten it. I can't talk about what we're doin' on the programme but I was hoping we could make some plans today for when I'm out."

"Why don't we discuss that later?" Hopkirk said. He smiled and stood up from the table. "Sounds good to me, sweetheart; just let me get washed up," he said, as he walked over to the sink. "Will ya braid me hair?" Hermione was standing near the sink and she jumped over toward the empty space where the Disillusioned guard sat. Whistling, Yaxley stripped off his tunic and started running the water; when he dropped his trousers and disappeared briefly behind the screen, Hermione gasped and turned the other way, but not before she noticed that he was quite well-endowed. _Oh Merlin, this is so awkward_, she thought, as she blushed bright red. _Why didn't I just check and see if Hogwarts had any open job positions? Well, I suppose I could have Alex remove this memory_, she thought, and stalwartly continued watching.

She waited to turn back 'round until she heard Yaxley at the sink, although she wished she hadn't, as he was scrubbing himself all over with a washcloth. Grimacing, she turned her head for a moment, and noticed that Madam Hopkirk had shed her robe as well. There didn't seem to be any place to look that didn't involve some form of naughty bits other than Yaxley's fairly well-muscled back, so Hermione focused there as he dried himself off. Hopkirk stepped behind him and finger-combed out his hair and separated it into sections for braiding. "That feels nice, sweetheart," he murmured. "I've missed your touch." When she finished, he turned around and took her in his arms.

_Oooohkay_, Hermione thought. _Time to fast-forward._ She sort of squinted out of the corner of her eye, at the rapidly-moving pair, not focusing on anything in particular and trying very hard not to listen to the sounds (which were, to be honest, somewhat amusing sped up), until they came to a stopping point.

He was murmuring vague obscenities to her, telling her how much he'd enjoyed what they just did and how good she felt around his…_Oh no, he's going for another round_, she thought, and fast-forwarded again. Really, she was impressed with his stamina; quite honestly he was rather fit, as was Madam Hopkirk; she often forgot that witches and wizards aged slower than Muggles. She hoped their amorous activities would end soon; although there were likely those who found watching others tryst stimulating, she did not. Ron had possessed a few wizarding girlie magazines, complete with moving pictures. He'd thought they were well hidden; Hermione had run across them on accident the first weekend they'd lived together. There was one that, unsurprisingly, featured a simulated co-ed naked Quidditch match.

_Thank Merlin, they're stopping again_, she thought, and slowed the memory down. Abruptly, she startled and looked up at the ceiling as he got up from the bed and headed toward the privacy screen and then the sink. Madam Hopkirk got up after he did, and eventually they got back in bed and lay together; the sheet pulled up to their waists. Hermione slowed the memory down so she could hear their conversation.

"That was incredible…I wonder how long we have left," he said, as he ran his finger down the side of her face, and then kissed her cheek gently. _Not much bloody longer, I hope_, Hermione thought._ I'm beginning to wonder exactly why Alex thought I needed to see this_.

"Not much longer, Corry," Hopkirk said in a weird echo of Hermione's thought, as she sat up and then swung her legs over the side of the bed. First, she walked over to the sink and washed her hands thoroughly, and then she approached the chair where she'd draped her robe and underthings and started redonning them.

"It's _never_ been four hours, sweetheart," he said, frowning. "Why are ya gettin' dressed? Come back to bed, I want to give ya more pleasure."

"No," she said, abruptly. "This is good-bye, Corry."

"What?!" he jumped up and dashed over toward her. Hermione kept her eyes focused above his waist.

"You heard me," she said, as she buttoned the top button on her robe. "I'll not be applying for another visit with you and I'll be leaving the country within the year." She ran her hands through her hair in an attempt to put it back in place, mostly unsuccessfully.

"I…I don't understand," he said. "I thought we were going to talk about me finishing the rehabilitation programme and getting parole so we can be together. I've loved ya for years, Mafalda! I want to marry ya!"

"Ah, but _I_ don't want to marry _you_," she said. "I've chosen another. And you have others to choose from, as well."

"But I just told ya, they mean nothing to me!"

"Then you probably should have told them not to visit," she said, stepping toward the door. Hermione smiled in _schadenfreude_ at Hopkirk's well-aimed barb. "We're done here," she said, as if to underscore the poignancy, and lifted her hand toward the door.

"Wait—I don't even have me trousers on," he said, as he walked over to the chair where he'd draped them and rapidly donned them, then picked up his tunic and slipped it over his head. "We can't be done. Ya said ye've chosen…who…" he paused for a moment. "Travers," he muttered. "He's taking deportation and ye're going with him, is that it?"

"I'm sorry, Corry," she said, and then lifted her hand up and banged twice on the door. The guard immediately opened it and ushered her out.

"NO!" Yaxley shouted as his face twisted with rage and pain; he started to rush out behind her. The Disillusioned guard in the corner stood up, waved his wand once to reappear and then a second time to stun Yaxley, who fell to the floor. The guards began to levitate him and the memory ended.

"Huh. The odds of one more Sacred Twenty-Eight family going extinct seem to be decreasing," Hermione said, after she withdrew from the Pensieve.

.

.

.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Russian: (none in this chapter, sadly)

Azkaban is a cold, cold place.

Chapter titles are from the song "Favours" by the Delgados.


	7. Chapter 7

THE LUDOVICO TECHNIQUE

Chapter 7 – With an ambush attack

"They seem to be," Alex said, as he sat down at his desk and motioned for Hermione to sit across from him. "Let's improve them in our favour," he said, waving his wand and moving Yaxley's file to his desk. "He's signed up for visits from Selwyn's wife, Clara, Dahlia Parkinson, and Narcissa Malfoy. By process of elimination, Dahlia Parkinson is the one he fears is a fortune-hunter. Let's save her for last. We should be able to nuke Selwyn and Malfoy prior to their next visits."

"That sounds rather final…" Hermione said, not familiar with the casual Americanism.

"Well, it'll be better for them to not associate with a rabid bigot like him, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course I agree," she said.

"So to get Mrs Malfoy out of the picture, we should leverage this Draco, I suspect; who is he to her?"

"Her son," Hermione said. "Her husband is on house arrest, as was she, but her term expired."

"Looks like she started visiting the Yaxter about five years ago," Alex said, as he flipped through the parchment. "So—we make a deal with her. She stops the visits; in return, we talk to her son about this parole program, everyone's happy but Banya, bada-boom-bada-bing."

Hermione made a note in her notebook. "What about Selwyn? I don't know much about him and there's not much in the file. Harry, Ron and I had a near-miss with him during the War when we were visiting a friend's house, and it looks like he was captured at the final battle—"

"So he's basically a wild card," Alex said. "I'll interview him early next week and find out what the deal is with his wife and Yaxley so we can formulate a plan for him. In the meantime," he began, as he pulled a sheet of parchment out of the file and put it on the desk between them, "We need to take a trip to Suffolk." There was a wizarding photograph of a country house at the top of the page and a map at the bottom. He took out a piece of parchment, wrote a quick note on it, and tapped it with his wand. It obligingly folded into a paper airplane and then vanished. "Hopefully we can get that done tomorrow; I'd suggest wearing something appropriate for a trip to the country."

* * *

The next morning, Hermione arrived at the Ministry wearing a tweed blazer with a cashmere jumper underneath and a pair of khaki trousers. Alex was in jeans and a sweater that both looked as if they originated from the LL Bean catalog. They locked and warded their offices then walked together through their office suite. "One of the Aurors told me as I was on the way out yesterday that he'd been to Yaxley's house for a dinner party just before the War, so he's taking us. We both need to get a good visualization of the house and grounds." Auror Proudfoot met them in the DMLE lobby wearing clothes quite similar to what Alex had on, with the addition of a Barbour jacket, and the three continued on to the Apparition Centre.

"So there's a Muggle dwelling not far from his house," the Auror said, before they entered the room. "Has the same name, which, by the way, means 'cuckoo clearing.' His is Unplottable, had all kinds of wards on it, which have been dismantled, other than _Repello Muggletum_, of course. One of the Death Eater wives keeps an eye on it for him, checks in once a month along with whichever one of us wants to visit with her. There's a decent pub—Muggle, of course—in the village not far from the place, so I've volunteered to take her a few times." He glanced over their attire. "You'll both fit in well."

"Which one of the wives?" Alex asked, as they approached one of the empty wedge-shaped floor sections. "Clara Selwyn," Proudfoot said. "I knew her in school. Ravenclaw, fairly decent sort."

Alex and Hermione glanced at each other and he nodded. They each took one of the Auror's hands and Disapparated.

They reappeared next to a quiet country lane. It was a chilly, cloudy day with a hint of drizzle in the air. Proudfoot, after surveying the area, waved his wand at the non-descript stand of trees in front of them, which melted away to reveal a gate, which he opened. They walked down a gravel road which led directly to the house. It was neither overlarge (like Malfoy Manor) nor small (like the Burrow) and looked, to Hermione's eyes, as if it had been built in the 17th century; she recalled visiting similar houses with her parents on weekend trips. Alex withdrew a wizarding camera from his pocket and began snapping pictures as he strolled around. The place had a desolate air; it didn't look abandoned, as there was no random rubbish strewn about and the trees and shrubbery weren't overgrown, but Hermione felt as if she could sense a lingering aura of Dark Magic. Meanwhile, Proudfoot stood impassively.

"So, this is where Dolohov thinks he's going to end up? I suppose I can't blame him, it does seem a pleasant place to retire," Hermione said.

"And Yaxley, I suppose, if he doesn't fuck up," Alex asked.

Proudfoot spoke up, rather unexpectedly. "My friend Campbell just got off his Azkaban shift; apparently Yaxley hasn't spoken to anyone or eaten much in several days and they've put him on suicide watch."

Alex nodded. "Thank you for letting us know. I'm just about done here." He took a few more pictures and then nodded at Proudfoot, who Disapparated them to the outskirts of the nearby village. They headed to the Cherry Tree pub for an early lunch, which was quite tasty. There was a brief amusing moment when the waitress asked them why they'd come to town. Proudfoot spoke up and said they'd been visiting Yaxley Hall, which apparently in the Muggle world was a wedding venue, so Hermione (who went with Dagworth-Granger as her surname) posed as the blushing bride with Alex as her exotic Yankee intended. As they were leaving the pub, Proudfoot (who'd pretended to be Hermione's cousin) did a discreet Confundus Charm.

When they returned to the Ministry, Georgina handed Alex an owl from the Azkaban warden confirming what Proudfoot had told them earlier. "I'm going to have to go over there right away," Alex said. "I'll do an interview with both Dolohov and Yaxley—I don't have time to prepare adequately for what I wanted to present to him about his house, so I'll have to wing it."

"Should I come along?" Hermione asked.

Alex gave her a long, considering look. "Yes. I think you probably should."

* * *

Alex and Hermione sat in the interview room for at least an hour, waiting. Alex flipped through the photos he'd taken on their field trip. Hermione, meanwhile, wished she'd brought a book and made various notes, one concerning Dolohov's overall state of non-cleanliness. She'd already put up the Air-Freshening Charm, as well as a variant of the Bubble-Head charm around the table where she and Alex sat. She figured that the guards were probably used to the smell.

When the two raps finally sounded on the door, Hermione startled a bit. "I was beginning to wonder if he'd gone through with it," Alex muttered. "Clearly, he actually does love her."

The two wizards and their escorts came through the door and were seated as usual. Dolohov was in his usual state of disarray, blinking at the lights; he'd definitely just been woken up. Yaxley looked horrible. He was unshaven and had huge dark circles under his eyes and his hair was lank and greasy; most of it had come loose from its braid, and Hermione wondered if he'd just left in the one that Hopkirk had done.

"_Dobryy den_, Sasha and Myushka," Dolohov said. Alex and Hermione glanced at each other.

"If you could please use English for us, Tosha?" Alex said, as he made a notation on a piece of parchment and slid it to Hermione; it read '_Just go with it'_.

"I am sorry," Dolohov replied. "I said good afternoon."

"Thank you," Alex said. "Mr Yaxley, how are you today?"

There was a very long pause, at the end of which Yaxley's guard poked him in the back and growled, "He asked you a question, Death Eater scum. Speak up or you're going to solitary!"

"Don't care. Feel like shite," Yaxley muttered. His voice was more gravelly than normal.

Hermione and Alex looked at each other. "We went to your house, Mr Yaxley," Alex said. "You might have to come up with another plan for your parole."

"What is wrong with Banya's house?" Dolohov interjected.

"Well, it's going to need some, er….rather extensive repair work," Alex said. Hermione, figuring she'd better get into the spirit of things, nodded in assent.

"But Clara was watching it for him," Dolohov said. "She has not sent owl or visited to say this."

"You mean Mrs Selwyn, Tosha?" Alex asked.

"_Da_," Dolohov said. "How long has it been since she visited?" Alex asked. "A few months, I'd presume? When was the last time Clara Selwyn came here to visit you, Mr Yaxley?" He didn't answer.

"He asked you a question, arsehole," said the guard, as he whacked him on the side of his head.

"I don't sodding remember, then, do I," Yaxley said.

"According to my records it's been about six months," Alex replied.

"You visited house too, Myushka?" asked Dolohov. Hermione was truly not happy with the nickname but she nodded and said. "Yes, it didn't look good. We, er, took some pictures." Alex rummaged around in his pocket and the folder in front of him, and then Hermione saw him tapping his wand on a blank square of parchment. A black-and-white image appeared, depicting the ruins of a country house; the trees and shrubbery surrounding it looked scorched. Alex held it up in Yaxley's direction.

Yaxley's eyes got wide and then he scowled and looked down at his feet, which were bare and dirty. "_Fuck_ this," he groaned. "Just let me fucking die."

"Oh, no, Mr Yaxley, that won't be happening on _my_ programme," Alex said, motioning to the guard, who Stunned Yaxley. "Take him to St Mungo's Secure Ward right away," he reached down and scribbled a note on a scrap of parchment. "Give them this. I'll get there as soon as I can." The guard stepped over, grabbed the parchment, released Yaxley from the restraint chair, and levitated him out of the room.

"Why you tell lies to Banya?" Dolohov asked, after the door had closed.

"What makes you think we're lying, Mr Dolohov?" Alex asked.

"I saw you make false picture," Dolohov replied. "I think house is fine."

"You may think what you want, Tosha, but it's our word against yours, and you're hardly a credible witness. You're a convicted Death Eater, an Azkaban inmate, lowest of the low in this country," Alex said. "And even if I were lying, he deserves it, he's no better than you."

"You were at house, too, Myushka, why _you_ lie?" Dolohov looked directly at Hermione.

"First of all, Mr Dolohov, we're not friends, so you do not need to use a nickname for me. Secondly, I'm not lying," Hermione added_. Technically I didn't_, she thought. _I did go to the house, we did take pictures and it didn't look good, it looked abandoned. I simply didn't elaborate. _"And lastly, I have no obligation to speak honestly to you. You tried to kill me, more than once, and you went to my house with Mr Yaxley to try and kill my parents."

"Banya and I did not kill your parents," Dolohov said.

"That's right, because I hid them away safe from you and the rest of your disgusting cronies," Hermione replied, her eyes flashing. "I know what you're capable of. I have a scar that hasn't vanished in ten years, and I have to take a weekly potion because of the curse you put on me at the Department of Mysteries."

"May I see scar, Myushka?" he asked, peering at her.

"You absolutely may _not_," she replied. There was a long pause. Alex stood up. "I have to get to Mungo's to make sure he's checked in properly, and sign a bunch of damned forms and all that crap," he sighed. "Are you all right to get back on your own?"

"I will be polite, Sasha," Dolohov said.

"Thanks, Tosha, viddy well," Alex said, nodding to him. "Hermione, you can walk out with me or continue the interview, whichever you prefer."

"I'll continue," Hermione said. _For as long as I can stand it_, she thought. Alex walked to the door and the Auror let him out.

"Are you sure you will not show me scar?" Dolohov asked, again.

"I'm very sure," Hermione said. "Why don't you tell me what your alternate plans are for parole, just in case you're wrong and we are telling the truth about Mr Yaxley's house?"

"I told you, I do not have any other plans. I think house is fine."

"Think what you want," Hermione said. "And I'll consider showing you the scar if you get cleaned up before the next time we come out here. I mean scrubbed up and shaved and with clean hair, the way Mr Yaxley usually is." She put a tick mark next to the rather childish line item in her notebook which read "DOLOHOV STINKS." She looked up at the guard standing behind Dolohov; he appeared to be hypnotized, or possibly sleeping with his eyes open. The guard at the door was humming to himself and nodding his head to music only he could hear. She would have thought they'd consider a hard-timer like Dolohov to be more of a security risk, but apparently not.

"He is like that usually because he has consorts visit him," Dolohov said. "But he looks that way today because he lost his love."

Although Hermione was perfectly aware, she asked, "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean he lost his witch, his Mafalda, he wanted to marry her, and she left him for Travers."

"What did he expect? He had all those other witches visiting him; she probably got tired of waiting in line." She looked down at the next line item she'd written, which read "Purple Fire Curse?"

"That is what I told him, Myushka, and he laughed and said he had nothing to lose."

"But he obviously did," Hermione replied.

"_Da_," Dolohov said. "I said that to him too." There was a pause during which he looked at her curiously. "I will not shave off beard," he said, which seemed rather random on the surface, but she was beginning to understand his conversational style.

"I didn't ask you to," she said. "Tell me about that purple fire curse you did on me."

"Was a modified _Relashio_," Dolohov said. "You used _Relashio_ on Banya when you were pretending to be his consort."

"Yes, well, that was after you did that one on me, you know. And I would do it on him again, _and_ I had absolutely no idea that she was his consort at that time; he didn't say anything to me other than, er, work things." Hermione said, trying very hard to not remember Harry's flip comments at their dinner party. "How is yours modified?"

"To release soul from body," Dolohov said.

"So it's similar to the _Avada_," Hermione said. She knew she should just ask the guards to take him away and head back to the Ministry, but ironically, she couldn't manage to extricate herself from the fascinating conversation. She made a note, "_Relashio, soul from body_."

"But it is not the _Avada_, so is not Unforgivable," Dolohov replied.

"I see," Hermione said. "It took a course of ten different potions, most of which tasted like shite, to get things back to normal. And as I said I'm still taking one—which tastes all right—and I still have the scar."

"We were at war, Myushka."

"We were schoolchildren, Mr Dolohov."

"You and your _tovarischi_ came to fight, though."

"I was against that particular engagement, if you must know." She glared at him.

"It was a lure," he said, and then he gave her a small smile. "You knew that. Banya and I both know you are very intelligent."

"But he thinks I'm a Mudblood," Hermione said. "As do you, I imagine."

"I think you were not raised in our culture," Dolohov said. "And he tells me that he finds you attractive. You just said you noticed when he looked nice."

"I was raised in this culture starting at age eleven," Hermione said, with a frown. "I just said he looked comparatively _clean_, not nice. And I don't _care_ if he finds me attractive; I think he's a horrible bigot and a disgusting sexist!"

"Sexist?" Dolohov said.

"A man, a wizard, who thinks that women—witches—are little more than playthings or baby factories! All he wants is someone to produce an heir for his pointless Sacred Noble House or whatever the fuck he's in charge of. I suspect none of those four consorts of his are interested, though; you'd think at least one of them would have got pregnant over the last ten years if they were. They're obviously doing the Contraceptive Charm or taking potions before they come to see him. How clueless can he be?"

"I say all this to him, too, Myushka. And there are three consorts, now."

"Well I guess he's even more skint, then," Hermione snapped. "Not that I care, one fewer pureblood family is fine with me."

"He respects witches. Yes, he wants heir to House, but he wants a strong witch by his side, someone like you."

"Except it's absolutely never going to be me by his side, so we can change the subject now," Hermione said, grimacing. _No matter how large his, er, wand might be_, she thought, idly.

Dolohov chuckled, which was a rather disconcerting sound. "Are you sure?"

"_Very_ sure," Hermione said. "And please do not suggest it to me again."

"This is good," he replied, and then he said, "I am tired and I would like to go back to cell now, if you do not have any more questions for me."

"I don't," Hermione said, and said, "Auror, you can take Mr Dolohov back now."

He inclined his head to her. "_Do svedaniya_, Myushka."

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AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Russian:

_Dobryy den_ – Good afternoon

_Da_ – Yes

_Tovarischi_ – comrades

_Do svedaniya_ – Goodbye (as in "until we meet again")

This is most definitely a slow-burn w/r/t Hermione and Dolohov; I hope you all enjoy the ride. Also, I'm not seeing any Mary-Sueish tendencies in Hermione, myself (IMHO a Mary-Sue is a self-insert with absurdly high powers and attractiveness), but I'll endeavour to keep them out. I'm a book!Hermione fan primarily; there are a few things from the films I like (*cough*Lucius*cough*, *cough*Yaxley*cough*) but I was quite annoyed at how film!Hermione kept getting other characters' dialogue.

I'd like to think that the Muggleborns have helped out the Ministry and the DMLE in many ways, specifically ensuring that nobody shows up for raids, etc. dressed like the fashion-impaired Bob Ogden.

The visit to Suffolk is a slight homage to one of my favorite fics, "Midsummer Murders," which is a Hermione/Yaxley/Dolohov polyfic ostensibly based on the long-running TV show, "Midsomer Murders." And yes, there's a Cherry Tree Pub in the village of Yaxley, which does, according to Wikipedia, mean "Cuckoo Clearing". I have never been there.

"Viddy well" is from A Clockwork Orange.

I have zero clues on what Dolohov's curse was supposed to be (thanks JKR), so I went with the interpretation above after Googling around a bit. There may be a similar explanation in another fanfic and if there is, I give credit where credit is due.

Chapter titles are from the song "Favours" by the Delgados.


	8. Chapter 8

THE LUDOVICO TECHNIQUE

Chapter 8 – Down came the force

Hermione didn't allow herself to process the conversation with Dolohov until she returned to her office; she bypassed Georgina's pleasant offer of coffee and possibly commiseration. She sat at her desk, staring at the walls, Dolohov's folder open before her, and when Alex knocked at her door, she realized abruptly that she had been sitting there for nearly three hours.

"Well, that's that, Yax is all checked in," Alex said, pulling up a chair in front of her desk. "They cleaned him up and sedated him. He'll likely be there for at least a week. I'm required to visit him every day. Who'd have thought that a Death Eater would be that much in love with someone?"

"Well," Hermione said, closing up Dolohov's folder. "Voldemort's been gone for a while, so his influence has waned. And it's not as if any of them have had much to occupy their minds other than what might be waiting for them after they leave prison." She paused to take a sip of her completely cold tea. "It rather seemed to me that he cared quite a bit about her when I observed them together. He was much different than he was in the interviews. And Dolohov said he liked strong witches; she certainly is that!"

"Defeated with his own wand," Alex said, smirking. "So…to recap our schedule next week, we'll focus on Selwyn, to find out what the connection is with Yaxley, of course, and we'll also interview Rookwood, and then toward the end of the week, let's talk to this Draco Malfoy character…what did you call him again?"

"A ferret," Hermione said. "He got Transfigured into one as a punishment by a Death Eater spy one year at school. Not that it was that much of a stretch."

"You must give me the full story before he comes in," Alex said, chuckling. "For now, I think you should head home. Try to get some rest and forget about all this bullshit for a couple of days." He stood up. "See you Monday!"

* * *

Hermione took Alex's advice quite seriously and spent the bulk of her Friday evening reading comfort books and eating takeaway at her flat, in between fire-calls from both Harry and Ginny (who were both ensuring that she'd be at the rescheduled Gryffindor alumni drinks party on Saturday, to which Ron had RSVP'd).

The next day at around eleven, just after she'd finished her first cup of tea, Ginny fire-called her again.

"George and Angelina had to beg off because Angelina once again….er, isn't _well_…" Ginny said, looking a bit mischievous and waggling her eyebrows.

"What are you actually trying to tell me?" Hermione replied.

"Both Harry and I think she's pregnant," Ginny said. "Which is great, of course," she added.

"Oh, absolutely," Hermione said, smiling.

"But what that means is that it will just be, er, you, me, Harry and Ronnikins tonight, and I wanted to make sure that was all right with you."

"Better that than having Pansy along, I need to work up to that," Hermione said, chuckling.

"That's what Harry told him. See you later!" Ginny said, withdrawing from the flames.

That evening, Hermione took Harry aside before she went in the sitting room and asked him to make her drinks a bit stronger than he normally did, to which he readily agreed. Ron had uncharacteristically shown up early, so the artificial courage helped her through the first hour of relatively polite yet stilted small talk, during which the subject of Pansy Parkinson was very pointedly not discussed. Ginny kept the conversation flowing with various Quidditch anecdotes which normally would have annoyed Hermione, but she gamely listened and laughed in the appropriate places.

Finally, during a lull in the conversation, Harry made an aside about Hermione's job. By this time, Hermione had consumed two very strong G&Ts and—in addition to hoping that there would be heavier hors d'oeuvres served soon—was giving serious thought to taking up the standing offer to sleep over in her friends' guest room.

"Ginny," Hermione said, speaking in a sing-song tone and waggling her eyebrows a bit to get into the spirit of things, "I have some news about your favourite PlayWizard…unless you're over him…"

"Never!" Ginny said, with a laugh. Harry gave a not-very-quiet groan from the bar, where he was mixing Ron's drink.

"What are you two talking about?" Ron asked, and Harry interjected, "Don't encourage them, mate!"

Recalling a couple of _Witch Weekly_ covers, Hermione camped up her voice to a radio-announcer level, and intoned, "There's trouble in Paradise for Mr PlayWizard—one of his consorts has dumped him and is off to Australia to marry one of the other participants in the programme…"

"What?!" Ginny shouted. "Which one? It's not Mrs Malfoy, is it?"

"Noooooooo…" Hermione said, and then winked and paused to take a long drink. "She's already married…."

"That wouldn't stop some witches….oh, come oooooon, Hermione!" Ginny whined, as Hermione infuriatingly paused to clear her throat, look around for a nibble, frown at the empty trays, and stand up and stretch.

"_I _actually know," Harry said, frowning. "You could have asked me, Gin," he added.

"Will someone please explain exactly what and who we're talking about?" Ron said, after he took a long sip of his drink.

"It's Hermione's new job, she's interviewing all those incarcerated Death Eaters, _especially_ that rakish one with the long braided hair who dueled Lee and George at the Final Battle, do try and keep up, brother dear," Ginny said.

"Rakish?" Ron said. "Isn't that supposed to mean handsome? Surely you're not talking about Yaxley, he's a horrible bigot _and_ he scorched my arse at the Ministry _and_ caused us to go on the run for all those months!"

"Of course we're talking about him, Ron," Hermione said. She'd forgotten about the arse-scorching in light of the more urgent Splinching scar she'd had to heal; however, given the way Ron had treated her a couple of years back, she'd considered scorching his arse more than once herself. "And he _is_ rather rugged-looking, and his hair _is_ nice," she said, before she had time to engage her rather beleaguered mental filter. "But yes, of course, he is a bigot and bit crude," she added, hoping that might placate Ron.

It didn't. "Rugged-looking? _Nice hair_?!" Ron spluttered. "He tried to kill us!"

"_We were at war, Myushka." _she thought. "We were at war, Ronald," she said.

"What do you mean crude?" Ginny said. "And will you please tell me which of his consorts ditched him?"

"Hopkirk," Hermione said, and took another drink. "_And_ she's marrying Travers and taking him to Australia to be his sponsor on the deportation programme. She came to me and filled out all the paperwork; I got a memo that it was approved just before I left yesterday."

"Don't they have to wait for a year?" Harry interjected.

"Yup," Hermione said. "Hopkirk told him this at the end of a conjugal visit, and Yaxley lost it, stopped socialising and stopped eating his meals and told us that he wanted to die, and Alex had to take him to St Mungo's."

"Oh no!" Ginny said. "Is he going to be all right?"

"Gin!" Ron shouted, rather disapprovingly. "You are talking about a Death Eater, here; please tell me you don't feel _sorry_ for him! If he'd caught us…"

"He told me straight out what he would have done, Ronald. In rather crude terms, I might add," Hermione said. "And Ginny, I have no idea, Alex will be checking in on him daily."

"Oh, I'm so disappointed," Ginny said. "I really was hoping he'd somehow reformed, that possibly all those witches might have talked some sense into him." She stood up. "I mean, Mum told me he was charming, apparently he has a reputation for it."

"Will you stop?" Ron said. "Like Hermione said, we were at war. These people were the _enemy_. We were _fighting_ them!"

"If I'm not mistaken, one of those "enemies" wanted to turn in Harry at the Final Battle," Ginny said, smirking at her brother. "Someone who you were probably out with last night!"

"Pans wasn't a Death Eater!" Ron shouted, standing up and glaring at his sister. "She says many of the old families want to move on from the unpleasantness and try to reunite the wizarding community by, er, doing good deeds. She's, er, she's done lots of charity work for war orphans!" Hermione inwardly groaned.

"Her father was a Death Eater, though, wasn't he, Harry?" Ginny said. Harry nodded.

"He was really only giving money to the cause," Ron said. "She told me."

"Look, I'm going to get some more snacks," Ginny said. "Hermione, come with?" She beckoned her finger and Hermione obligingly picked up her drink and followed her down the hall to the kitchen. When they arrived, Ginny flicked her wand at three trays of savoury snacks that sat on the table to warm them up.

"You'd better grab of those prawn things before my brother notices that platter," she said. "And I'm sorry for starting all that, but he's really a bit of a hypocrite, isn't he?"

"He's partially correct, though; I've read a few anonymous editorials in the _Prophet_ from some outfit calling itself the Alliance for Magical Unity that say much the same thing about moving on and such. Maybe she wrote them…." Hermione mused. "And I'm sorry, but Yaxley was _really_ horrid to me; he is still very much of a bigot. I'm hoping he'll disqualify himself from the programme, actually." She reached over and picked up a bacon-wrapped prawn.

"Don't tell Ronnikins or Harry, but Mum said he flirted with her once, danced with her at a Ministry gala, and he was a great dancer…"

Hermione chuckled. "But your mum, of course, is a Pureblood, Sacred Twenty-Eight, so of course he was charming to her."

"Yeah, there's that," Ginny replied, as she waved her wand at the platters to levitate them toward the hallway. "It's all so ridiculous, really." She paused a moment. "Before we go back in there, who else did you get to speak with?"

"Dolohov," Hermione said, looking down at her fingernails.

"What was he like?"

"Different than I thought he'd be," she said, examining her empty glass and then doing a silent _Aguamenti_ to fill it with water. "Interesting; I'm looking forward to speaking with him, unlike the inmate formerly known as Mr PlayWizard," she added, chuckling a bit.

"He's rather good-looking, too," Ginny added. "Even though he always looked a bit crazed in those _Prophet_ pictures."

"He said he wouldn't shave his beard, but he'd clean up a bit, which is good," Hermione said, and then blushed, recalling how he'd said "this is good" in his heavily-accented voice, and how much she'd actually liked it—it had brought Viktor to mind just a bit.

"Hermione!" Ginny said. "Don't tell me you actually were flirting with him?"

"No! I mean, if you must know, he looked and smelt terrible, like he hadn't washed his hair or bathed in years, and I asked him, _politely_, I might add, if he could clean up a bit for our next interview, and he agreed."

"Are they all like that?" Ginny asked. "Unbathed and so forth, I mean?"

"Yaxley was relatively clean but, well, Dolohov told me that was because of all his visitors…"

Ginny giggled. "I mean, he's still got three of them strung along, I guess losing one isn't all that awful…"

"He really loved her, I think," Hermione said, slightly wistfully. "But let's drop that and go back in there or they're going to come in any minute. Let's have a Witches' Night Out soon…"

"And we can invite Angelina and find out what's really going on…"

"And Hannah, I'm pretty sure Neville's going to pop the question soon…" Hermione said, and with that statement, the reality of her singleton status hit her. "And meanwhile I'll just be at Azkaban interviewing unsuitable wizards and remaining dateless…"

"Oh, Hermione, you won't be on the market for long," Ginny said, slinging her arm over her friend's shoulder. "What about that Mind Healer you're working with? Is he single?"

* * *

Late Monday afternoon, Alex stepped into Hermione's office. She'd spent the day reviewing both Selwyn and Rookwood's files in anticipation of their interviews. She didn't know much about Selwyn other than that she, Ron, and Harry had a close call with him at the Lovegood home during the war. His wife, Clara, was caretaking a number of homes of incarcerated Death Eaters in addition to Yaxley's; no reasoning was given behind this in the file—the visits were merely noted by date. Rookwood had been an Unspeakable before the First Wizarding War; Hermione recalled him from the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. In his wizarding photographs, he always looked rather bored, as if he'd rather be doing anything other than standing still and posing.

"Well, the Yaxter seems stable," Alex reported. "He definitely wasn't happy to see me, though. Would you mind accompanying me tomorrow?"

"I rather don't think he'll be any happier to see me," Hermione said. "Considering my dirty-blooded status and all."

"He actually asked about you," Alex said.

"Was the word 'Mudblood' involved?" Hermione asked, grimacing.

"Funnily enough, it wasn't," Alex said. "He was marginally polite, in fact. Maybe he's loosening up a bit."

"Not that I really care," Hermione replied, standing up. "I was going down to get a coffee, would you like to join me?"

"Sure," Alex said, as he shrugged off his cloak and waved his wand to send it toward his office. "I am serious, you know, I do want you to come along to Mungo's."

"Is it meant to be part of the programme?"

"Of course," he said, as he opened the door to the hallway and waited for Hermione to step through, and then started toward the lifts. "As I mentioned before; I'll do anything to throw them off guard."  
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AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Russian: (none in this chapter)

Thank you to all who have taken the time to review so far. I very much appreciate it, even the constructive criticism. This is a hobby, but it's also writing practise.

Chapter titles are from the song "Favours" by the Delgados.


	9. Chapter 9

THE LUDOVICO TECHNIQUE

Chapter 9 – And down came the briefcase

The next morning, Hermione took her time getting ready for work, because she did not relish the idea of visiting St Mungo's and seeing the disagreeable beplaited wizard. She pitied him for the abrupt way he'd been dumped, but definitely felt he'd brought it on himself by not being entirely faithful to Madam Hopkirk.

_At least I didn't run around on Ron, I simply didn't want to get married on his schedule_, she thought, as she waved her wand over her hair, first to dry it and then to braid it. Witches and wizards lived longer than Muggles, so the idea of being married for half a century or likely more intimidated Hermione to a degree which she'd unsuccessfully attempted to explain to Ron. He, being from a large, happy family, hadn't understood. Her own mum probably would have been able to explain it to him if she'd not been safely tucked away in Australia.

She'd visited her parents just once more after the failed attempt to recover their memories. She'd even scheduled a dental appointment, although she realized that it might be too emotionally painful to bear and canceled it at the last minute (and paid the cancellation fee). Ron hadn't come with her on that trip because she'd scheduled it over the Christmas holidays and he was loath to leave behind the Weasley holiday onslaught of presents, parties, laughter and feasts. Most likely, she thought, Pansy would fit right in to the weeks of enforced jollity alongside Ron, and provide lots of expensive presents, she supposed, although she gave a wry chuckle at the thought of the usually-stylish witch wearing a lumpy, handmade Weasley sweater. Then, of course, there was Mr Parkinson, the Death Eater who had bankrolled Voldemort…would he be invited? Hermione recalled reading his name on a list of those who'd been put on house arrest…and then she realized something.

Who, exactly, was this _Dahlia_ Parkinson? Alex had mentioned that they'd deal with her last, and that she was a fortune-hunter. She recalled an unfamiliar black-haired witch sitting in the DMLE reception area along with Mrs Selwyn. She hadn't focused much on her because she was too busy inwardly chuckling about Yaxley's increasingly lengthy list of conjugal visit applicants. She was obviously related in some way to Pansy, _and had I not been drinking so heavily on Saturday_, Hermione thought, _I'd have probably remembered to ask Ron—or more realistically, Ginny or Harry-about her_.

And with that thought, her wand lit up and chimed, indicating that she needed to head to the Ministry. With a sigh, she stepped toward her fireplace and picked up the Floo Powder.

Alex was waiting for her in the Atrium, seated on one of the benches surrounding the fountain, sipping a coffee. After the destruction of the Magical Brethren statues and then the abrupt post-Voldemort removal of the hideous Magic is Might installation, the Ministry had chosen a simple abstract design for its central decorative motif. It was officially named the Fountain of Fair Fortune to annoy any pure-blood supremacists who might have otherwise been ignoring the new governmental position. (Lucius Malfoy was on record as sending a strongly-worded letter of protest about it to the Wizengamot, of which he was no longer a member.)

"Good morning, Alex," Hermione said, mournfully.

"It's not going to be _that_ horrible, Hermione," Alex responded, handing her a paper cup of coffee and a chocolate-chip muffin.

"His track record says otherwise, and bribery doesn't work on me," she said, as she nonetheless smiled and took a sip of her beverage.

"If he's too much of a schmuck, you can just walk out and wait for me by the Floo," Alex replied.

"We have a deal," Hermione said, as he stood up and escorted her toward the Floo Hallway. They both finished their drinks before stepping into the fireplace, and Hermione stowed away her muffin for later.

St Mungo's Floo was just opposite the crowded reception area, but as Alex was still technically an employee, he whisked Hermione through several hidden corridors until they emerged in front of the Secure Ward (about which she hadn't previously known).

"We'll have to leave our bags with the guard, but we are allowed to take in our wands and I can take my notes in," Alex said, as he knocked thrice at the riveted metal door. "And we don't need to stay here that long."

"That's a relief," Hermione replied, as she handed her bag to the rather large guard and submitted to a scan from a device that was similar to a Probity Probe.

They walked together down a dingy green hallway to a small riveted metal door at the end. There was a closed viewing slit at the top and a slit at the bottom, presumably for meal delivery. A red-haired Mediwitch of indeterminate age approached just as Alex raised his wand toward the door.

"Oh, hello there, Alex," she said. "It's time for Mr Yaxley's potion, do you mind?"

"Of course not, Eulalia," Alex replied. "I didn't check his chart that closely yesterday; what is it you're giving him?"

"It's a modified, experimental version of Euphoria," she said, holding up the bottle so that Alex and Hermione could view the bubbling lemon-yellow contents. "He seems to be responding quite well to it, although I will warn you…er, he might possibly be responding a bit _too_ well."

"Is he going to tweak our noses? Because I'm not exactly up for that," Hermione remarked, squinting at the potion.

"Not as yet," Eulalia replied. "But he has been singing quite a bit."

Hermione looked at her incredulously and mouthed "_Singing_?" at Alex, who shrugged, as the witch opened the door and said, brightly, "Good morning, there, Corban, did you eat all your breakfast?" An empty tray sat on a table near the door. Yaxley, who looked rested, clean and relaxed—his hair neatly tied back-was wearing light-green pajamas and reclining on the bed, a large smile on his face. The room was larger on the inside than the hallway size indicated, but Hermione was well used to that sort of thing.

"I did, thank you very much, sweetheart," Yaxley said, as Hermione stood in the doorway. Alex had already entered the room and sat his portfolio on the table. Eulalia walked over and handed Yaxley his potion; he drank it down quickly and then gave a rather loud belch; she then turned to the table and Vanished the empty tray. Hermione was able to clamp her lips together and stifle her laughter; Alex gave a not-very-convincing series of coughs.

"Sorry," Yaxley said, rather brightly. "I must apologize for being so crass in yer presence, ladies." He nodded his head to both Eulalia, who actually giggled, and Hermione, who remained in the doorway, gobsmacked. "Won't ye come in, Miss Granger? I'm rather pleased that Healer Townsend actually listened to me yesterday."

"Er…good morning," Hermione mumbled in his general direction, as she started to head over to the table to sit down.

"I apologise for not standing up, but I am presently confined to bed as breakfast time has ended," Yaxley said. "Townsend, be a gentleman and pull that chair out for her, why don't ye?" Alex walked over to Hermione and pulled out the chair. She sat in it, facing Yaxley, who was still smiling, this time directly at her. Eulalia waved her wand and Vanished the empty bottle of potion from Yaxley's hands, then waved her wand to make a notation on a clipboard that hung from the end of the bed.

"Be good, Corban, I'll see you in a few hours," she said, giving him a little wave. He blew her a kiss.

_Oh my Merlin_, Hermione thought, _if Ginny could only be here for this. _Yaxley was actually whistling as Alex flipped through his paperwork; she recognized the tune as "Singing in the Rain," which seemed rather Muggle, but she was loath to ask.

"All right, Mr Yaxley," Alex finally said, clearing his throat. "You're obviously in much better spirits than you were yesterday. How about telling me a bit about how you've been feeling for the past few days?"

"Well, Townsend, I'm definitely feeling better seeing as how ya brought a pretty lass with ya this time like I asked, I'd much rather look at her than at yer ugly mug—no offense!"

"None taken, Mr Yaxley. So on that note, you see Miss Granger here, a witch who you've referred to as a Mudblood on numerous occasions, at least ten by my current count, as a 'pretty lass' and nothing more?"

"Obviously I wish that ya weren't of such unfortunate parentage, Miss Granger, but I see no reason to focus on that unpleasantness at the moment. Would ye care to dance?"

"Would I care to…._what_?" Hermione blurted.

"Dance," Yaxley said. "You'll have to release the charm and let me up from the bed, of course. And I don't have me gramophone here and they said they can't get me one, but I can sing, most witches seem to think I have a rather agreeable voice," and with that, he began singing, "_Give me a kiss to build a dream on…and my imagination will thrive upon that kiss_…" His voice wasn't bad, if a bit raspy.

"But that's by Louis Armstrong," Hermione said. "It's a Muggle song. My parents had that record!"

Yaxley stopped singing and said, "The St Louis Sorcerer is the artist who recorded it; I have that record at the Hall."

"I'm not sure that's where Louis Armstrong was from," Hermione said, feeling very much as if she'd been forcibly shoved down a rabbit hole. "Er, St Louis, that is," she added.

"Pretty sure he was from New Orleans," Alex added.

"Townsend, just be a damn sport and let me up from the bed," Yaxley said. "If I'm going to be stuck in a series of wee rooms for the rest of my life, you can at least let me have a dance with a pretty witch once in a while."

"I'm not permitted to do that, Mr Yaxley," Alex said. "Although once again I must ask, what is your opinion of Miss Granger?" Hermione clamped her lips together, attempting not to scowl. Although Yaxley was being pleasant, quite charming, in fact, she was uncomfortable with his artificially-induced ardour.

"I'd truly love to take her in my arms and spin her round the floor at this very moment," Yaxley said, a wistful smile on his face. "Are ye quite sure ye're not permitted to let me up? I'm sure they're going to cancel next month's visit with Clara because I tried to kill meself, and I do so treasure those visits."

"What does Clara Selwyn have to do with Miss Granger?" Alex asked.

"When she visits, I sing for her and we dance together; her husband can't dance, ye see. We're close friends, not lovers. She also caretakes the Hall for me." He looked sad for a brief moment. "Suppose that won't be necessary any more, though. When I get back I'll write ta her."

"So you're planning to go back to Azkaban?"

"Don't have a choice, now, do I? Will stay on yer programme, but I bloody well hate it, just so ye know. Can't say we wouldn't have done similar if we'd won, though," he added. "Would have probably tried to send ya back to the Muggles, Miss Granger, modified yer memory and so forth. Tosha and I spoke about it once."

"Did you?" Hermione asked, in a slightly icy tone.

"We would have done so if ye'd been at yer house when we came there, but ye'd already scarpered and sent the Muggles off. Smart of ye; Tosha was impressed, he couldn't track any of ye."

"Are you sure you wouldn't have assaulted and then killed me? Because that's what you said in your interview the other week," Hermione added, staring directly at him.

"We were at war, Miss Granger. And Tosha and I were being influenced through our Marks, constantly. Sometimes I still think those things. Most of the time I just dream of being home and listening to me gramophone, and having a pretty witch to share me life with."

Although Hermione felt ever so slightly guilty, she pressed on. "Like Madam Hopkirk," she said.

"Aye; I treated her badly, didn't spend enough time with her, didn't tell her how much I cared for her. I can't blame her for goin' with Travers, but I do bloody well blame _him_."

"He'll still be in Azkaban with you for another year," Alex said.

"So he'd better fucking well stay out of me way," Yaxley said, with a dangerous glint in his eye. "Have already been to Solitary and I don't care if I get sent there again."

"I'm not entirely sure, Mr Yaxley, but I think that such disciplinary actions disqualify you from my programme," Alex said. "They do," Hermione interjected.

Yaxley made a very disgruntled sort of noise. "Not sure if any of this is worth it."

"You might think differently when you hear what I have to say next, sir. If you do successfully navigate my programme and become eligible for parole, there's a possible work-release opportunity at an establishment owned by a Mr Malfoy, a nightclub, I believe. If you successfully graduate from _that_ programme, house arrest is an option," Alex added, looking at his paperwork and very deliberately not at Yaxley.

"Which Mr Malfoy?" Yaxley asked, in an eerie echo of the question Hermione had asked.

"Mr Draco Malfoy," Alex clarified.

"Ugh," Yaxley said, and Hermione had to hold herself back from vocally agreeing with him. "Definitely not sure _that's_ worth it; I'm not fond of either of those wizards."

"But you are fond of _Mrs_ Malfoy," Alex needled.

"She's fond of me," Yaxley said. "She comes to visit me and, well, I probably should refuse her but it's so bloody cold there and she's…er, well." He paused and cleared his throat. "A gentleman doesn't discuss such matters in the presence of a lady," he said, nodding at Hermione. Alex made a notation in his file and then closed up his portfolio.

"I think we're just about done here, Mr Yaxley," he said, standing up and extending his hand to Hermione to help her up. _Apparently Pureblood manners are the order of the day_, Hermione thought.

"I apologise for not being able to stand up," Yaxley said. "Townsend, would ye be so kind as to bring Miss Granger back with ye tomorrow?"

"Only if she is willing," Alex said.

"Possibly," Hermione said, nodding at Yaxley before she headed to the door as quickly as she could without seeming impolite. Alex locked and warded the door behind them and they walked quickly through the labyrinthine hallways to the Floo. Just before they stepped in, Alex said, "Lots to unpack there." Hermione raised her eyebrows at him and nodded.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Alex entered Hermione's office. She'd spent the rest of the morning flipping through Rookwood's and Selwyn's files in preparation for the upcoming interviews, as well as trying to get her mind off that morning's events, which was difficult, as the Louis Armstrong tune was now firmly stuck in her head on a seemingly endless loop complete with trumpet solo. She'd made a note to stop by the Muggle CD store near the Leaky Cauldron on her way home.

"Sorry, I had to do the final paperwork on Travers, or I would have been here earlier." He sat down heavily in the chair across from her. "Good Isolt, what a morning! Mungo's has always had an unwritten policy of testing experimental potions on Azkaban inmates, but the results aren't usually that amusing."

"I suppose that answers the question of how he was able to string along all those witches for all those years," Hermione said. "He was rather pleasant, and I think he might have slipped a bit of an apology in there."

"Yes, well," Alex remarked. "I suspect he'll go right back to his usual _modus operandi_ once he's back on the rock, though. It almost makes me feel a bit bad, considering my plans for him."

"He did mention that he felt he should refuse Mrs Malfoy, so that won't be so much of a punishment," Hermione said. "And should we take away Mrs Selwyn, now we know that's platonic?"

"Oh, yes," Alex said. "In fact I have a memo drafted; I'm going to have an Auror intervene there. He'll just never hear from her again, not while he's in Azkaban."

"So he'll never know what's going on with his house," Hermione said.

"Exactly so," Alex said. "There may be a bit of memory modification in store for him as a follow-up. So that leaves Dahlia Parkinson, the fortune-hunter."

"I think—"Hermione began, and then realised that her second-hand experience with a Parkinson relation probably shouldn't factor into things. "Never mind," she said.

"No, I want to hear your thoughts, do go on."

"Well, my ex-boyfriend is dating a Parkinson, not the same one, of course," she began.

"Mr Weasley?" Alex said, and Hermione frowned a bit as she nodded. Up till now, Alex hadn't made reference to her celebrity status and she rather appreciated it.

"Hmm," Alex mused. "Are you on speaking terms with him?"

"As of a few weeks ago, yes," she replied.

"But likely discussing his current girlfriend's relations is off the table, I'd think," Alex said. "I'll just ask the Aurors, all the Azkaban visitors have to be investigated and approved."

"I appreciate not having to bring that up with him," Hermione said.

"Any time, boss," Alex said. "Well, back to it. Rookwood on Thursday, I think, and Selwyn on Friday." He stood up, and Hermione waved her wand to add the two upcoming interviews to her calendar. "We'll do them together first if you don't mind. Week after, I'm thinking maybe we do an informal interview with Tosha again. I just can't seem to figure him out."

"Neither can I," Hermione said, staring blankly down at her desk.  
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AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Russian: (none in this chapter)

To all reviewers/followers/favorites—THANK YOU!

Fun fact-apparently there is a Louis Armstrong song called "Muggles" which is about…er, herbal smoking substances. The More You Know!

Chapter titles are from the song "Favours" by the Delgados.


	10. Chapter 10

THE LUDOVICO TECHNIQUE

Chapter 10 – Quiet before

Hermione was unable to concentrate on files or paperwork for the rest of the day, although she did consider that Rookwood's interview might be mildly interesting. He seemed rather too boisterous to have been an Unspeakable. After she attempted to read a line in Selwyn's file for the fifth time without success, and as she was technically not required to stay for set hours (as she had been in her previous post), she decided to head home early and stop at the Leaky Cauldron for dinner. She put a quick glamour charm on (to avoid the attention of the wizarding masses), enjoyed a shepherd's pie and a high-gravity mead, then stopped by and picked up the Louis Armstrong CD before heading back to her flat.

As she didn't live in a wizarding building, she owned both a telly and a CD player, although both tended to go on the fritz when she performed too many household charms and spells near them. She also had learned that placing either device too close to the fireplace (and its Floo Network connection) was dangerous; her original telly had disintegrated one morning when she was late to work.

She put the song on and discovered it took three repetitions to get it completely out of her head, after which she played the rest of the tunes on repeat while flipping through a few Muggle magazines and then the _Prophet_. It was a very slow news day, but a small ad toward the back of the paper caught her eye. Apparently, a new feature, Wizarding World Personals, was starting up at the beginning of May. Interested parties could place anonymous ads and the Prophet would serve as a clearing-house for replies. Hermione considered that she might place an ad or possibly respond to a few; her friends from school and the Ministry seemed to be permanently pairing up with alarming rapidity, and she did occasionally feel as if she was being left out of events. There weren't a lot of singletons about; _given that I live in the equivalent of a mid-sized village_, she thought. Not for the first time, she considered relocating to America or perhaps Australia. If her new Ministry position remained annoying and stressful, she thought, she'd start looking into it seriously.

As the hour grew later, Hermione headed into her bedroom, where she remained frustratingly awake. She attempted to sip some chamomile tea, with no success; Dreamless Sleep was her last-resort alternative, and she picked up the bottle several times and returned it to the cabinet, untouched.

Finally, after she'd ensconced herself on the couch with her favorite fuzzy Gryffindor blanket, her eyelids got heavy and she drifted off to sleep.

_She was walking through an odd landscape that resembled the Hogwarts Great Hall, albeit the damaged version of it that she recalled from the Final Battle. Overall, the surroundings were grey and blurred and there wasn't a clear pathway through the gloom, but she pressed on nonetheless. Looking down, she noted she was in the bathrobe and pajamas she'd donned earlier that evening, and her wand was in its usual place in her robe pocket. She'd had similar dreams, but not for a few years. In them sometimes there were unsettling noises, usually explosions and screams, but this time it was silent, which is why she startled and instinctively grasped her wand to defend herself when she glimpsed a Death Eater in combat robes out of the corner of her eye, but the shadowy figure didn't appear to see her and passed quickly by, vanishing into one of the pockets of darkness._

_She heard an insistent whispering from that darkness and walked closer to it. The voice sounded familiar, but until she walked closer to the edge of her perception, she couldn't quite figure out what was being said. _

"…_.we're going to fucking lose, I can feel it, I did the sums last night, and now we know he doesn't really have a plan, we could just retreat to the Hall and barricade it!"_

"_Only plan that he has is to save his own skin," came a heavily-accented reply. "I think it has always been such."_

"_And if he manages to do that and finds we've scarpered, we're fucked, too. And Aurors know where to find me, anyway…some of them were part of that Phoenix lot who quit the Department, but I had them all over to the Hall for several drinks parties before that." Yaxley (because Hermione was sure that it was he) gave a long, despairing sigh._

"_Banya…." Dolohov (it could be no one else) replied, in a rather sarcastic tone, and Hermione imagined he was rolling his eyes as an accompaniment._

"_I know! I was bloody well trying to be a good boss, wasn't I?"_

"_There is no place for good bosses in a war."_

"_That may be the most Russian thing I've ever heard ye say, old friend."_

"_Here is something even more so. Our current choices are prison or death."_

"_With an extra added bit of torture before the latter, so they're both shite," Yaxley replied. "Although I suppose Russian prison might be worse."_

"_In wizarding world, much the same." Dolohov sighed. "Already know what Azkaban is like, that is my choice."_

"_You were there longer than me, Tosha, and ye made it through."_

"_Order of Phoenix regime probably will not use dementors," Dolohov said. _

"_Cold comfort, that," said Yaxley. "Guess we'd better get back out there. Maybe we'll be cellmates." And with that, Hermione saw Yaxley emerge from the darkness and look straight through her, then turn and dash quickly in the other direction. His long braid was intact, so clearly this was just before his defeat by George and Lee. Dolohov emerged behind Yaxley, but he paused and looked right at her._

"_Myushka?" he said._

Hermione gave a long, loud gasp and abruptly woke up. She was covered in sweat, and she immediately jumped up from the couch and Scourgified the blanket and herself. A quick _Tempus_ charm revealed that her alarm would be sounding in an hour anyway, so she grimly plodded off toward the shower.

She got to the Ministry about thirty minutes earlier than normal. Mr Robards came in right behind her and gave her an approving look and nodded, but made no comment. Alex was already in his office, and she poked her head in and said, "I'm a bit confused about something. Weren't we meant to see Rowle _before_ Rookwood? I gave Mr Robards an interviews rota a couple of weeks ago when he asked for one."

"Just in case they were talking amongst themselves, or they overheard the guards talking, I decided to switch it around. I did mean to tell you, sorry."

"It's all right," Hermione said. "Anything to throw them off balance, I guess."

"Wait," Alex said, peering at her. "Are _you_ all right? You look a bit…er…tired this morning. Want to go and grab some breakfast in the Atrium, or possibly something a bit more substantial at the canteen?"

"Yes," Hermione replied. "I didn't sleep well." Once they'd sat down in the canteen with their respective hot breakfasts, she added, "I had a bit of a disturbing dream last night."

"Not to poke fun at you but that's how a lot of Muggle jokes about my profession start."

"I realise that, but…well. This was different. It seemed more realistic."

"A lucid dream, then," Alex said, after he took a sip of coffee. "Witches and wizards have them, too, but they usually refer to them as visions or visits to the Faerie Realm or something equally fanciful."

"Well, this was a vision of the past, then. Except part of it wasn't." Hermione sliced into her omelet and took a bite, then blotted her mouth.

"What part wasn't?"

She poured a splash of milk in her tea, then stirred it, then added a bit of sugar. "Er…the part where Dolohov spoke to me."

"What did he say?"

"He looked at me and used that nickname, "Myushka." Except that he didn't use that back then as far as I know. Nor did I actually see him much at the Final Battle, which was where this dream took place. And Yaxley was there, too, but he walked right past without seeing me."

"I'm not sure what to tell you, other than possibly we ought to concentrate on some of the other inmates for a bit, even though we do need to visit Yax at some point today." He paused for a moment. "In fact, given this new information, I believe I will leave him bereft of your presence for the remainder of his stay at Mungo's. He'll have to dance with himself." Alex nodded at her and then took a bite of oatmeal.

"Well, _he_ didn't speak to me in the dream."

"Doesn't mean he wasn't there," Alex said, after which he buttered a slice of toast. "I think they've imprinted on you. They could both be trying to, er, get under your skin by magical means."

"I suppose I wouldn't put it past either one," Hermione replied, after she took a sip of tea. "Even though I thought Azkaban had magic-dampening charms in the walls."

"You and I both know that such things can be fooled, or worked around. And it's possible some of those charms have degraded over time. The only thing we can be absolutely sure of is that neither of them have wands."

"In Yaxley's file, there was a picture of his wand after it was snapped straight away by, er, several Aurors, who also roughed him up a bit. I'm not sure about Dolohov's. I mean, he was in Azkaban before, so it was probably snapped years ago."

"I'm sure he went to an underground wand maker, or borrowed one."

Hermione was reminded of the time she'd used Bellatrix Lestrange's wand. "It never feels quite right to use another's wand, though."

"No, which is why many Dark wizards develop their wandless magic skills, as you no doubt are also aware?"

"Unfortunately," Hermione said.

They concentrated on their breakfasts after that for a bit, and Alex departed for St. Mungo's directly from the canteen.

* * *

Later that afternoon, when Hermione had gone through both Selwyn's and Rookwood's files yet again and made some rather redundant notes, Alex returned.

"I meant to be back earlier but I was having a word with the resident Mind Healers and the Potioneer about that experimental Euphoria; I think they need to dial back the formulation a bit. Yax was crooning Sinatra to me and quite honestly I found it rather more disturbing than an Imperius Curse." He paused. "I had to get out of there before he got to the end of 'My Way.'"

Hermione tried, and failed, to not think of that song, and of the wizard singing it (from his hospital bed in pajamas). "Did he have some wonky name for Frank Sinatra? Like, er, the New York Necromancer or something?"

"As a matter of fact he called him the Warbling Wizard," Alex said, chuckling. "I wonder what that's all about."

"I have no idea," Hermione said. "I'll ask Ginny this weekend. Her mum listens to a lot of that type of music on the Wizarding Wireless Network. I've never noticed any odd names but then again I wasn't always paying attention."

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AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Russian: (none, other than general Weltschmerz)

I realise this chapter is a bit short but I wanted to get it out before the weekend to make up for putting this story on hiatus for a bit (in favor of finishing Godless).

To all reviewers/followers/favorites—Thank you. To the anon reviewer who doesn't like Alex—well, he's not really supposed to be likable, so that works, I guess. To the other anon reviewer who said Yaxley was 'on drugs,' well—yes, while at St Mungo's, he's both been sedated and dosed with the magical equivalent of mood stabilizers.

Chapter titles are from the song "Favours" by the Delgados.


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